


First Breath After Coma

by RedAlpaca



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha!Tony, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega!Ash, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Slow Build, Slow Burn, and also smut. and violence., everyone gets their fair share of murder, lots n lots of blood!!! and friendship, the E rating stands for Exciting!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedAlpaca/pseuds/RedAlpaca
Summary: He wanted to kiss him then, wanted it so bad that it hurt to look at him, wanted to drag him down and feel Ash melt against him. Ash was so close, it would be easy. Then everyone would know that Ash is his. But over Ash’s shoulder, Tony could see Dean at the bar, chatting away animatedly to one of the customers as he poured their drink. He could smell the beta’s scent on Ash’s clothes, wrapped around him like briar. So he reached over to grab hold of Ash’s hand on his sleeve, pulling it off.Then it was his turn to say, “Don’t.”—It had originally started off as a simple raid, but when things go pear-shaped, Ash is forced into an unexpected heat, and the group struggles to deal with the aftermath.OR: Tony is emotionally constipated, Ash doesn’t know how to find healthy outlets, and everyone else has to suffer the collateral damage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright team we’re gonna get ourselves an ABO fic up in this bitch because every self-respecting fandom needs at least one ABO fic. I’m regrettably not the best writer but I felt this was something that just needed to be done. 
> 
> Just wanted to clarify for those that are still pensive about the non-con elements, it is not Tony/Ash or Dean/Ash non-con (it involves a scummy OC instead) and it is not _explicitly_ described, however it does happen and is a particularly important event that is mentioned throughout. I'll try my best to address it appropriately, but I'm not perfect at this, so I really hope I've done alright. 
> 
> Title is the name of a song by Explosions in the Sky.

Back pressed against the cold brick wall, his breath shakes as he struggles to keep it low and steady. He re-adjusts his grip on the handgun, the once-cool metal warming in his palms, and tries to recall how many bullets he has remaining. His sister, Alex, is in front of him, peeking around the corner, searching for anyone that needs a chainsaw in the chest or a bullet in the head while he provides a second set of eyes to watch their back—it always helps to be extra vigilant. 

They’re standing next to a large entrance to what seems like a spacious warehouse room of sorts. He can hear the cacophony of rapid gunfire and shouts outside as Mark and Corey clear the area around the building, making sure no reinforcements make their way into the building for a pincer. The twins had initially stormed in with Tony but he had stayed on the second floor while they continued their way up to the third in search of Ash's friend’s little sister. Jack had called Ash, rambling, something about his little sister hanging out with the wrong crowd and he was hoping Ash and his friends could somehow “deal with it” and get her out. Given their lack of action lately, the group had decided to see what they could do, despite Tony’s incessant complaining. 

A rough tap on the shoulder has him whipping his head around to his sister. She nods, a sign that the coast was apparently clear, and without any warning or preparation on Ash’s part, she sprints her way across to the opposite brick wall, seemingly unhindered by the sheer bulk of her chainsaw. She crouches and turns around to face him and despite the masks they have on, he can tell she wants him to do the same. The masks provide little in ways of communication: voices are muffled, whispers are caught in the thick rubber, and facial expressions are obscured. For omegas, olfaction is their most augmented sense—even more so than that of alphas. This was originally an evolutionary trait, designed so they could locate and identify compatible alphas as well as their young, but at this very second, it provides no help as there are far too many people to identify past the masks. He readies himself to make a mad dash when he hears voices from the room.

“Wait, there’s someone else there, I heard something.” Panicked, hushed.

“You sure it wasn’t one of us?”

“I don't know," a beat, “but don't think it is. And there’s more than one of them. Go tell the others.”

From across the gap, Ash can see Alex shrug and returns the gesture. 

Ash readies himself for the onslaught. Then, taking a deep breath, he grips his gun and fires into the room as Alex revs her chainsaw. 

—

Corey kicks off the ground and rolls to her left just before the man in front of her pulls the trigger. His aim is awful, hands shaking too much to even hold the gun properly. Digging her feet into the soil she pushes herself up and leaps forwards, brandishing her katana. He’s firing wildly now, not caring where he’s pointing that thing, and Corey wants to laugh. His face is priceless. She swings the blade upwards just as he whips his arms around to aim the barrel at her, and she feels the resistance of skin, flesh, and bone, and then nothing. 

The guy is screaming now, understandably, loud and hoarse; his vocal chords sound close to tearing as he falls to the ground and curls around his arm—what’s left of it, anyway—blood rapidly soaking through his t-shirt as he presses it against his exposed flesh. 

Her ears pick up another sound coming from behind a nearby dumpster: fast, shallow breathing and through the thick rubber over her head, a heartbeat that sounds more akin to an assault rifle. Alphas could pick up the slightest of sounds from greater distances than normal, for better surveillance in order to protect their pack. Their sense of smell was also heightened, likely for foraging and mating purposes back in the hunter-gatherer days, but in these situations they were good for making sure nobody could sneak up on her and catch her off-guard. She crouches down to wipe the the blood off her katana on the man’s clothes and sheathes it. She also takes this opportunity to pluck the man’s handgun off the ground, kicking the severed forearm away as she stands.

“Don’t move,” she orders the man, even though it seems very unlikely that he’s going to do anything of that sort when he’s bleeding out with one arm and a half. Making her way over to the dumpster, she anticipates the surprise attack and quick steps to the side just as a knife flashes in front of her eyes, missing her by a hair’s breadth. Without missing a beat, she lifts her leg and and drives her foot into the small of the guys back, knocking him flat onto the ground and before he can even attempt to get up she slams her boot on the guy’s wrist. She puts her weight on his arm, crushing it with enough pressure to force him to release the knife. His cheek is pressed against the ground, eyes wide and afraid as the zebra’s dead eyes bear down on him.

“Who are you?" he asks, voice trembling, "Why are you here?”

“God, you betas know nothing about stealth,” she mutters, ignoring his questions as she takes his knife and tucks it into the holster in her belt, pleasantly surprised when it fits almost perfectly. She taps her ears with the side of the gun barrel, “you know I can hear you from a mile away, right? You’re panting like race-horse, might wanna work on that.” He’s crying a little bit now, sobbing into the dirt as she points the gun directly at his head. Pathetic.

“I hope you’ve saved some bullets for me!” she calls over to the other guy, though she’s not sure of his state of consciousness. She turns her attention back to the guy under her foot, “Why don’t we find out?”

—

“I resent that,” Mark says, walking over to where Corey had just finished off some poor bastard, “betas are plenty good at stealth.”

“Says the one running akimbo with two MP5s, bullets flying in all directions,” she laughs, arms outstretched and flailing a little, mimicking Mark as she wipes her blood-splattered shoes on the grass, “you aren’t exactly the poster-boy for stealth.” 

Mark chuckles, “I s’pose you’re right.” 

Betas were considered a sort of middle-ground between omega and alpha, acting as a “jack of all trades” of sorts. In a traditional pack they would be the ones helping omegas take care of offspring, or conversely, assisting the alphas with hunting and scavenging. Because of this, they had the amplified senses of both the omegas and the alphas, albeit not to the same degree.

“How were things on your end?” Corey asks, leaning against the dumpster. She keeps an ear out for any suspicious noises.

“Good. Messy,” he shrugs, “the usual.”

His past hour or so was spent spraying bullets everywhere: heads, kneecaps, shoulders, vital organs—anywhere he could bury them really, and the occasional stomp when someone’s will to live was a little bit too strong. The carnage he left behind was always quite spectacular; he had once described it as being like a Pollock painting but with blood and viscera, and the occasional bits of bone. The comparison wasn’t received too well. _“What do you know about fine arts?”_ Ash had called out when he said it. Fuck him, Mark knew lots about fine arts. He was a cultured man, thank you very much.

He yawned as he reached under the bear mask to scratch behind his ear, “I’m just ready to get the girl and call it a day.”

—

The man charges at Tony, screaming and wielding a _cheese knife_ of all things, the metal gleaming under the harsh kitchen lights. Tony readies himself as his attacker quickly approaches. He grabs the man’s wrist before he can drive the pronged blade into Tony’s abdomen, and with the other hand he launches his fist directly into the man’s face, listening for the sickening crunch as the spikes of his brass knuckles crush the hard bone of his nose bridge. He hears the knife clatter onto the tile, and before the man joins the weapon on the floor, Tony grabs his head and all but throws it directly onto his raised knee with full force.

He tosses the body to the side, face reduced to an unrecognisable pulp. That’s the last of them. He can’t hear anyone else on the floor. Good, he was starting to get a little tired.

Tony slides the knuckles off his fingers and rubs the reddened skin underneath as he looks around. No sign of the girl. He steps over the body and steals a crushed pack of menthols out of the the man’s jacket pocket. He isn’t a huge fan of them—they made his mouth feel drier than usual—but if he’s going to run around saving imaginary damsels in distress he might as well get something out of it. He loots another body, slipping the notes into his pocket and makes his way out of the building. What a fucking waste of time.

— 

They all clamber sluggishly into the van, chucking their weapons into the back while Tony takes his spot in front of the wheel. He runs his hand over his brown buzzcut and drags it down over his face. Ash takes his mask off. The metallic scent of blood, the odour of sweat mixed with dirt and grime, the choking, toxic smell of fuel, all hits the back of his throat. He should be used to it by now, but it still takes him a few minutes to acclimatise after smelling nothing but stale rubber for the last two or three hours. He looks at himself in the rearview mirror. Some bits of blond hair stick out haphazardly, some bits matted against his forehead. He takes another breath, sighing as he leans back into the seat. Despite the potent smell of everything around him, under it all he can still detect the signature scent of the others. 

Alex smells cloyingly sweet. It’s disgusting. It smells like someone had gotten a blender, shoved a bouquet of roses in it, poured an excessive amount of vanilla essence in, crammed it full of candy floss, and blended it all together into a foul smoothie. It makes sense though, her being his twin sister, for her scent to be naturally repulsive to him.

Mark, on the other hand, he smells…nice. It isn’t anything outstanding, Ash notes, but it is definitely pleasant. He carries a sort of clean, crisp, fragrance that makes Ash feel calm and at ease, the same feeling he would imagine one would get sitting in the middle of a forest next to a babbling brook. However, unlike other betas he’s met that tend to have more playful, citrusy notes, there is a woody undertone that lends him a more mature scent—it is good, it is safe. It isn’t overpowering, just always there amongst every other scent.

Corey’s reminds Ash of outer space. There’s something deep and mysterious about it that he just can’t quite put a finger on, can’t describe, and it’s curious; it makes Ash want to know more. It runs like smooth leather over his senses, heavy, intimidating. It sits there buzzing under her skin, a panther, dark and prowling, watching its prey with sharp eyes and even sharper claws. It’s magnetic but at the same time, it feels almost dangerous, pulling him in whilst also keeping him at a safe distance.

But Tony—his is different. He’s an alpha like Corey but his scent is wholly different. It’s less unattainable, less like the endless reaches of space. The rich aroma envelopes Ash like velvet, warm like freshly brewed coffee on a lazy Sunday morning, like the glowing embers of a crackling fireplace. It isn’t overly spicy, but there is something there, like a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s…alluring. It draws Ash in. While Tony himself isn’t the nicest company to have around, to Ash, his scent is that of comfort.

“Holy shit, I’m exhausted,” Alex says with a stretch. She pulls her mask off and reties her ponytail, grimacing when she finds a glob of coagulated blood sticking to the tips of her blonde strands. She picks it out and flicks it in Ash’s general direction, “what are you going to tell Jack?”

“That we’re never running any of his stupid errands for him again,” Tony interjects, not taking his eyes off the road.

“The truth,” Ash answers, ignoring Tony, “I mean, how were we supposed to know she was gonna pull a gun on us? I wasn’t gonna stick around and wait for her to put a bullet in me, fuck that.”

“I mean we _did_ murder all her friends,” Corey says as she tucks her black hair behind her ear. Closing her eyes, she pulls her knees up to her chest and repositions herself in her seat so she can have a quick nap, “I don’t think people like it when their friends are murdered,” she then adds helpfully.

“Well, Corey, you’re not wrong,” Mark mumbles through a yawn from his spot in the passenger seat.

“Look, whatever, we did what we could, he’s just gonna have to deal with it,” Ash concludes. Of course, he does feel a little bad leaving the girl in a building full of her friends’ corpses, but there wasn’t much he could have done. He was pretty sure another step would have set her off and he’d be another body lying there in the warehouse in a puddle of their own blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite what everyone seems to think, Ash is not a bartender. Sure, he works at Hank’s Bar, a.k.a the local watering hole, but he doesn’t mix any drinks. He just walks around, delivers drinks to the older men and women that have problems and secrets to bury under copious amounts of alcohol, and picks up sticky glasses left on sticky tables to wash later. He fucking hates it. He _would_ get another job, but it’s not easy for Ash—his resume isn’t the most impressive, and to be honest he had only come by this job by pure luck. His friend, Dean, who works there as an actual bartender, had asked Ash if he’d like to earn a little bit of extra cash after their previous glass boy had been fired for stealing alcohol from the bar. Ash, of course, accepted. His boss seemed chill enough; if Ash was cleaning glasses and not embezzling tequila and vodka from their shelves, then he was happy.

It isn’t exactly the classiest place in town. The tables are made of cracked wood, decorated with dents and chips and scratched in graffiti, and a couple of old, blue couches pushed up against the walls. On the walls there are framed posters of various vintage movies, all aged and yellowing. The air is always a mixture of scents—younger people here for a night of heavy drinking with friends, older people settling in for a quiet night, but it was never quite free from the stench of loneliness and desperation that hung beneath it all.

When Ash finds himself in the eye of the storm, when all the customers have been served their drinks and it’s too late for new customers to burst in, he likes to sit back and observe the patrons. The employees also liked to gossip, so it’s inevitable that Ash hears fragments of conversations as he floats around, and he manages to slowly gather enough information to piece together some backstories. The lady with red hair in the black singlet had just gone through a divorce and lost custody of her daughter, the old man sitting in the corner booth had a wife who went missing a few years ago and his involvement in her disappearance remains a mystery, one of two guys over there is cheating on his significant other, and the girl there with her hair in a bun has a friend who is the latest victim of a new roofie-like drug terrorising the omega populace.

“Hey!” a deep voice suddenly calls out. Ash rolls his eyes, carrying an armful of precariously stacked glasses, hoping that if he pretends not to hear he can escape in time. The bar was never short of rude, entitled customers. 

“Oi! Blondie!” the man yells again. He curses under his breath and turns around to see a man, almost twice his age beckoning him over with a lecherous grin stretched over the skin of his face under his stubble. He walks over carefully, balancing the towers of glasses against his chest. The man is sitting in a booth with three others, all sporting the same taunting glint in their eyes. Ash stands at their table, not bothering to hide his exasperation. 

“Can I help you?” he shifts and the glasses clink, and Ash hopes that that’s an obvious sign that he’s kind of pre-occupied. The man takes a sip of whiskey and smacks his lips. From the amount of empty glasses on their table, Ash deduces that there’s no way any of them are sober.

“Yeah, actually, you can,” the man says, stretching his arms over the back of the seat cushion, “what time do you get off tonight?”

Ash sighs. He’s tired, it’s past midnight, and he has an hour and a bit more of walking and standing and taking orders and cleaning until his shift ends. He does _not_ want to be dealing with this right now. He tries to be as civil as possible because he can’t afford to lose this job, literally. Between his job here and Alex’s job as a personal trainer, they’re barely making ends meet. Their landlady is already pretty lenient with their erratic rent payments and he doesn’t want to push it.

“Sorry, unless you’re gonna ask me to take your empty glasses or for the whereabouts of the toilets, I can’t help you,” Ash replies before he turns to leave.

“Come on,” the guy urges. The hand that reaches out to stop him leaving lands on his hip, “I’ll even buy you a drink.” A few quiet chuckles rippling around the table.

“Look, man,” Ash pushes the words through clenched teeth, twisting out of the man’s reach. His arms are starting to ache from carrying all these glasses, “I can’t help you there.” 

He turns to leave and winces when he hears the guy slam his now-empty glass of whiskey onto the table. Ash is surprised it didn’t just shatter into a hundred little pieces (that he would have had to clean up afterwards). Rolling his eyes, he turns around. Ash considers himself pretty tall, always has, but this man is now having to look down at him. He’s pressed almost chest-to-chest with Ash—would have been, if it weren’t for all the glasses he’s cradling. 

“You little bitch,” he spits, and Ash braces himself for what he knows is coming next, “you fucking, stuck-up, omega bitch,” the man continues, showering Ash with a spray of saliva. A hush falls over the bar as the other customers try to avert their eyes, while their ears are obviously tuned to the drama unfolding. And Ash’s blood boils. If this had been anywhere else, anywhere but his place of work, the man would’ve been chewing on crimson asphalt the second he opened his mouth, “think you’re too good for me, huh? You do, don’t you?” 

He feels his fingers twitch against the glasses. The barrage of insults, putrid breath, and spit being constantly thrown in Ash’s direction is starting to make Ash think that losing his job can’t _really_ be that bad.

Before Ash succumbs to the urge to smash the glasses he’s holding into the guy’s head, a body forces its way between them and he almost smashes a pint glass into the head of gelled-back, brown hair. Dean has a hand on the man’s broad shoulder, keeping him from advancing, and Ash takes this as an opportunity to go dump his glassware into the sink. He can’t hear what Dean is saying, but he watches the man put up a bit of a fight, a vein on his forehead threatening to burst under the sheen of sweat on his reddened face. There’s some swearing and some broken glass, but eventually he gives up and stomps out, slamming the door as he does so.

“What a fucking idiot,” Dean mutters as he walks over to Ash’s side, “you good?” he asks as Ash wipes down the table and cleans the mess the man left behind.

“Fucking great.” 

It’s times like these that Ash really hates being an omega. For the most part he’s indifferent to it, but when people start treating him like an object—an object that they’re entitled to—he wants to jam a crowbar down their throats, and he can’t help but wish he was born a beta like Mark and Dean, or an alpha like Corey and Tony. That guy wasn’t the first and he certainly isn’t going to be the last. Being an omega in this kind of environment—it’s not exactly dignifying. Alphas get a whiff and suddenly he’s nothing but a walking, talking piece of meat.

“Thanks,” Ash mumbles, drying his hands and tossing the hand towel to the side. He hates feeling like some sort of fragile omega that needs saving. In fact, Ash has proven on many occasions that he was fully competent at taking care of himself. Unfortunately, it’s not like he could have whipped out a gun and shot the guy dead in the middle of a bar or stabbed him in the throat with a butterfly knife. Now _that_ would have definitely caused a scene. 

“You’re finishing your shift at two right?” Dean asks, and before Ash can reply, he continues, “‘Cause I’m finishing then too. Come chill at mine for a bit,” and Ash considers the offer for only a few seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah okay.” 

—

Dean passes him the lighter. They’re sitting side-by-side on the couch. It’s a tattered old thing and the leather is stiff and cracked, but it has somehow retained a certain degree of plush. When he dropped himself on it, he sank into the cushion as it let out a sad, deflated squeak. 

Ash’s feet are propped on the coffee table next to a soggy box of old cajun chicken pizza that Dean claims he only bought the night before. He originally wanted to turn the TV on so they could have something playing in the background, but the remote had been chucked under the coffee table with a used condom lying on top of it, and suddenly he didn’t mind the lack of background noise. 

“Gonna contact my dealer soon,” Dean mumbles around the roll in his mouth, “but for now we have to do with a couple of spliffs.” 

Ash shrugs with one shoulder, “’s fine.” 

He doesn’t smoke at lot in general (that’s more Alex’s scene) but he’ll take it. He needs to relax. They hadn’t found anything of interest lately: drug dens that need ambushing, junkies that need exterminating, or even girls that need finding. Tonight’s incident at the bar had only fuelled the fire in his veins that made him itch for a bit of violence, so of course he’s a little restless. He brings the spliff to his mouth, and inhales. The headrush comes a little later and he closes his eyes and leans back, letting it wash over him. This is nice, he thinks to himself, allowing himself to unwind as he feels the tension melt away into the feeling of falling and flying. He feels Dean get up and leave, and he begins to wonder where Dean might have gone when he jumps up from something extremely cold pressing against his cheek. He takes a look at the offending object and raises an eyebrow at Dean.

“What? Beer before bud, you’re in the mud, but bud before beer and you’re in the clear,” Dean recites, still holding the bottle, “I’m not going to roofie you, look, it’s not even open.”

“Fuck you, you slimy bastard,” Ash snorts as he snatches it out of Dean’s hand.

They sit there for a while, burning paper under thick grey plumes and emptying bottles one after the other. Dean finally turns on the TV at some point, but it’s all outdated infomercials and obscure music channels at this hour. Ash doesn't mind though. He’s completely, totally blissed out. 

When he accepted the job offer, he and Alex had been living on a constantly dwindling supply of instant noodles and lukewarm showers. He wishes he had the security to quit, but no, he doesn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing what he does to make sure he and his sister have enough hot water every month. He takes a sip of beer, dangling the neck of the bottle between his fingers. Between that and the nightly routines of the group, he doesn’t often have time to himself that isn’t spent sleeping off the exhaustion from working such late hours, let alone for anyone else. And he’s hit with the realisation that he’s lonely.

He hasn’t had a proper relationship for the last couple of years or so—the last proper relationship he’d had being with a beta. It was nice, it was normal, but they eventually broke up because it just “didn’t feel right”. It was a mutual decision; she could tell that Ash wasn’t totally there in their relationship, and she felt like she wasn’t giving him what he wanted—“beta instincts” she called it—and those instincts were right. They just weren’t on the same page, and along with Ash’s midnight ventures into abandoned buildings and criminal headquarters, it wasn’t easy to maintain a relationship. Sure he could’ve stopped going with Corey and Mark and Tony and Alex in that old, beat-up van of theirs, but they were his friends, and without them his life would spiral into drab monotony. He didn’t want that, and she understood, and so they split. Of course, she wasn’t privy to the exact _details_ of what he did when he went out with the others, the duration of the relationship would have been quartered if that were the case. 

Thing is, despite not wanting to conform to archaic roles and stereotypes, Ash can’t silence the part of him that reaches out for every alpha in his vicinity. But unfortunately, Ash can’t say that he is spoilt for choice. The only people that Ash could think of that he could fit in his life, blood-splattered nitty-gritty parts and all, are Corey and Tony. 

Corey’s a good choice. Despite being a year and a half younger than him, she exudes a quiet confidence and maturity that paints her as a capable alpha. He’s seen her fight many times before. She moves with surreal grace, every step and jump and swing carefully calculated. She can take out a group of assailants more swiftly and with more finesse than anyone else he’s ever seen. Corey is someone who could watch over him and guide him. There is nothing ostensibly objectionable about her, but she isn’t _quite_ what Ash wants. Something keeps him from being attracted to her as a mate, but he’s not sure what. He chalks it up to omega instincts, something about her scent. While it has the pull of an alpha, there is something just slightly off-kilter that keeps Ash at arm’s length, and Ash wouldn’t dare step over the boundary line.

Corey acts as a foil to Tony, whose personality, unlike Corey’s, makes Ash want to view him as an unsuitable choice. Tony is a constant spout of complaints and impatience. If something were to annoy him or rub him the wrong way, you were lucky if you were to hear the end of it. He is reckless. He is selfish. In a fight he would be the one running almost directly into the line of fire, placing way too much trust in his ballistic vest to be sane, just so he could get in the midst of all the action. In short, he’s a cocky bastard who possesses many various shades of asshole, and therefore he is _not_ a suitable alpha.

Ash takes a puff.

But of course, as nature would have it, there’s his scent. The warmth that Ash is seeking. As much as he hates to admit it, it’s the comfort that he craves, the crucial element that was missing from all his previous relationships. Tony who is rash and careless. Tony with eyes the colour of the fire that burns where his heart should be. Tony, who has proven time and time again that he possesses the qualities of a strong and able alpha, an alpha whose scent was much too compatible with Ash’s senses. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck_.

Ash takes a gulp of beer, but he tips his head too far back and some of it dribbles down the wrong pipe. He hacks it right back up, coughing and pounding at his chest.

“Slow down there, buddy,” Dean says, whacking his back as he splutters and coughs into the crook of his elbow. Ash shuts his eyes and falls back against the couch, catching his breath. He stays like that for a while, in the silence that falls over them.

“You know you don’t have to stay at the job,” Dean says after a while. Ash opens his eyes and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks over to Dean who’s flicking open another bottle. His vision is slightly blurry and he tries to register what Dean just said.

“What?”

“I can tell it makes you miserable. You hate it there,” Dean says. Is Ash really that transparent?

“It’s not that simple,” Ash mumbles, bringing the roll to his lips, “if I quit this job, God fucking knows when I’ll get a job next,” he takes another puff, “it’s not like I have any assets that make people think ‘well shit, I want that guy’. You know?” 

“Eh,” Dean shrugged, “you’d be surprised.” 

Ash hums, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean gestures to him with the hand holding the bottle, “Blond hair, green eyes,” a pause, “omega. Some people would pay a hefty amount—if you catch my drift,” and Ash laughs when Dean waggles his eyebrows. 

“Nice to know I’m not a fucking grenade,” Ash blows out the smoke from his lungs, “but I’m not about to become a goddamn whore, Dean.” 

“Hey, I never said _whore_ ,” Dean says defensively, “think more along the lines of _escort_. I’ve seen those documentaries, some of those omegas…solid threes like you, you’ll be sweet.”

“Well fuck you too,” Ash retaliates and Dean raises his arms to prevent himself from getting bottled. Ash swings again but this time Dean catches the bottle and the two of them find themselves locked in a wrestling match, with Ash threatening to break into Dean’s skull with his bottle and Dean fighting back with a threat of his own, warning Ash that if he tries to crack his head like an eggshell then Ash should prepare to have his arm in two pieces. 

He ends up with Dean sitting on his knees crushing them uncomfortably against the back of the couch, squirming and laughing and out of breath, with Dean in a similar state. Dean is only slightly taller than Ash, but he’s definitely broader, and while Ash is, no doubt, able to win this pseudo-match, he doesn’t bother putting in the effort, and especially with the effects of the drugs in his system dulling his senses, he relents easily. When he glances up, Dean is laughing with him but the look in Dean’s eyes is one he hasn’t seen before. It’s too warm, too fond, and it makes Ash’s heart kick at his ribcage. Dean relaxes his hold around Ash’s wrists, and Ash’s fingers twitch, before he takes the opportunity of a moment of laxity in Dean’s grip to push his hands against Dean’s face and shove the beta off him, wriggling out from where he’s trapped beneath Dean’s solid weight. 

“Oh thank God,” he breathes out, exaggerating his relief, “I thought I was gonna get crushed under your fat ass for a moment there.” 

When Ash meets his gaze, Dean averts his eyes immediately and his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck as a nervous laugh escapes him. Ash knows what that means.

The fact that Dean is nervous sends a slight pang of guilt through Ash. Dean is a rarity in that he’s one of the very few people in Ash’s life that Ash actually trusts. During Ash’s low points, for as long as he’d known him, Dean had always been there to lend an ear or a shoulder, and his loyalty is steadfast and unwavering, a trait that Ash covets. But looking at Dean now, Ash knows that something in their friendship has shifted—it’s not just a friendship anymore, at least not from Dean’s side. He's not sure how that's going to shake things.

“Thought I was only a solid three?” he says with a smile in an attempt to dispel the impending awkwardness in the air. 

Dean laughs quietly, and Ash lets out a breath of relief when the sound reaches him, “I guess I’ll make an exception.” 

“Oh, I’m _so_ honoured,” Ash says, placing a hand on his chest, feigning appreciation.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “yeah, you should be.”

But despite the banter, the hunger in Dean’s eyes never dissipates, it swirls in the blackness of his pupils, and even in the low light of the room, Ash can see it. He feels something in his belly, it’s not want—at least, not in the way an omega wants, but it’s something simple that he knows can be sated if he closes the distance between them. Maybe it’s called loneliness, the need to be needed, Ash doesn’t know. But he’s drunk and he’s high, and so he does lean forward, only a fraction, and there’s not enough time to react when Dean’s hand curls around the back of his neck.

—

Tony wakes up when his cellphone vibrates violently under his head. The room is still relatively dark, so it must be some ungodly hour of the morning. Cursing, he reaches under his pillow and looks at the screen. It’s 7:04 in the morning and the name “Alex” flashes on the screen. He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before answering. 

“What do you want?” he grumbles into his pillow, unhappy at being woken up before noon.

_“Good morning to you too,”_ she says, and he can hear the sounds of her rushing around, the jingling of keys, the rustle of clothes, _“hey look, could you do me a huge favour, Tony? I would ask Mark or Corey but they’ve got work and so do I, and I know you have no plans today.”_

“Depends”.

Apparently Alex had received some garbled voicemails from Ash early in the morning. The first one she deciphered as him asking her to pick him up the next morning to drive him to his car at Hank’s Bar, because Dean was going to be too hungover to do it when he woke up, and _he_ was going to be too lazy to use his legs to walk and catch the bus. The next two, she tells him, were probably accidental because all she could hear was snoring and slow breathing. After some convincing on Alex’s part, and a promise of free beers at some point, Tony reluctantly agrees to the errand. She was right, he didn’t really have anything better to do that day and he needed something else to do besides lie in bed all day like a total waste of space.

Having gone back to sleep for a few hours beforehand. It takes a while for him to dredge up the motivation to leave the warm embrace of his duvet.

He looks over to the blonde omega still sleeping under the blanket. She and Tony have a friends-with-benefits sort of deal going on—have been for a few months now since he’d picked her up from the bar. She was convenient and fun, but lately the sex has been lacklustre and predictable. Tony can’t find a reason for it—she’s pretty, she’s kind, and she was killer in bed, but there’s nothing exciting about her anymore. He nudges her awake and waits for her to get dressed while he throws on a jacket and a pair of old jeans he’d torn on one of their many escapades. He offers to see her out, but when they reach the door of his apartment, she takes a bit longer to leave than Tony would have liked, like she wants to say something. She stands at his doorway, nervously adjusting the handbag strap on her shoulder.

“I uh…I guess I’ll see you soon?” she says, uncertainty evident in her voice. He replies with a noncommittal grunt. The girl bites a lip, looking thoughtful for a moment, before she gets on her toes and leans in, but in a show of impeccable reflexes, Tony leans back to evade the peck on the lips, instead getting a small kiss on the cheek. He knows it was a bad move when she looks visibly taken aback, but to her credit she gathers herself quickly and tries to laugh it off. She still manages to plaster a smile on her face, albeit very awkwardly. She rubs her arm, “W-well, that was—I’m sorry. I’ll be off. See you, Tony.” When she leaves, he runs his hand over his head and goes to find his keys.

It’s a little bit past ten o’clock when he finally gets to the address that Alex texted him. He jogs up the steps and knocks on the stained glass on the door. Shoving his hands in his pocket, he waits. And waits. And waits.

“Ash!” he calls out impatiently, not bothering with discretion, and knocks again.

When nobody answers, he blows air out his nose, irritated. He takes a deep breath. “Ash! Hurry the fuck—”.

The door suddenly swings open. Tony blinks. Ash is standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand, his hair an absolute disaster. 

“Jesus, keep it down you fucking neanderthal,” Ash mumbles.

The scent hits him first thing. It catches him off-guard. Ash smells different. Instead of being light and fresh, like peony and jasmine with a splash of sun-ripened peaches, with sprays of orange blossoms and fresh sprigs of mint, instead of feeling like he's in the middle of the women’s perfume department at the mall or a fucking shampoo commercial every time Ash was around, it's... _wrong_. Usually it spilled around him like silk: smooth and delicate, captivating—in a way that all omegas are, of course, soothing, like burying your face in soft cotton that has been drying all day in the hot summer sun. But right now there’s something else in there, an interruption, like static in the middle of your favourite song playing on the radio.

(Not that Tony particularly enjoys _Ash’s_ scent, it was more of a general _omega_ thing). 

Boring and stale. A beta. Must be the beta that owns the shirt that Ash is currently wearing, Tony infers. It’s large and drapes over Ash’s narrow shoulders, falling loosely around his lean frame, but because Ash has legs for miles, it stops just above the middle of this thighs. Tony redirects his stare to Ash’s bleary eyes instead, and folds his arms. He’s about to tell Ash to get his ass out here, but a voice calls out from inside the house. 

“Ash? Oh, there you are,” he sees a tall brunette enter the hallway and make his way to the door, “good morning”. 

When he reaches the entrance, he places his hands on Ash’s waist to pull him against his own body and presses his lips against the side of Ash’s throat. Ash, for a second, sighs into it and sags against the other man, head tilting in a purely omegan manner, and that one simple action has Tony’s jaw tightening and fingers flexing. God, Tony hates PDA. Nobody wants to see this shit. Keep it confined within the walls of your house. And seriously, Ash? Tony has personally witnessed him gouge a man’s eyeball out just for the "fun" of seeing how well it would be tolerated in a conscious human, and now he’s here swaying in some dude’s arm like a delicate, smitten little maiden. Tony is about to tell Ash that he really does not have the time to watch them neck like fifteen year olds when Ash shrugs the guy off with a soft smile, and pulls at the fingers around his waist to free himself. The other man seems to suddenly notice Tony standing outside, as if he hadn’t been there the entire time. 

“Yo, I’m Dean,” the man says, lifting his chin in acknowledgement, “can I help you?” 

“I’m here for Ash,” he states, meeting the man’s eyes. 

Dean looks at Ash, “Didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” he teases, pinching his hip.

Ash yelps and jerks away, jabbing him hard with an elbow to the gut, “Stop saying stupid shit before you think, dumbass.” 

Hissing in pain, Dean still manages to push out a cheeky response, “Baby, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me,” which does nothing but earn him a punch on the shoulder. 

“Can you just put some fucking pants on and let’s _go_ ,” Tony nags, wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible. He isn’t interested in watching the two of them act like hormonal teenagers, “your sister woke me up at Satan’s ass crack of dawn to tell me to pick your sorry ass up and I wanna go back to sleep, so hurry the fuck up.” 

He waves his hand to send Dean and Ash back inside to get changed, the latter seemingly too distracted and-slash-or tired and-slash-or hungover to snap back at him and goes without question. The taller man throws his arm over Ash’s shoulder and Tony watches as they disappear into the house.

Ash finally steps out, back in his old clothes, and despite the strong stench of weed and cheap beer wafting off of him, Tony appreciates it. Probably because it’s something familiar. When Ash opened the door smelling like himself mixed with the scent of someone else, it was a little weird and it just threw Tony off, is all. 

—

“So, you and Dean,” Tony says as he turns a corner. He had only heard about Dean a couple of times before when he was brought up briefly in past conversations. All he knew about the man was that he was one of Ash’s co-workers, along with the waitresses Lauren, the chick with the flowing strawberry blonde hair, and Devyn, the tall black-haired one with the pixie cut and an abstract geometrical tattoo on her back that stretches across both shoulders.

“What about me and Dean?” 

Tony looks over at Ash and squints. He’s got his head on his arm with his elbow out the window and the sun hits his fluttering golden strands at just the right angle to be almost blinding. 

Tony scoffs, “You guys were bumpin’ uglies last night, weren’t you?”

“Nice try Sherlock, but no, no uglies were bumped last night. I just borrowed his shirt because this,” Ash flicks the collar of his dress shirt, “is fucking uncomfortable.”

“What, so you’re telling me nothing happened last night,” Tony says, more like a statement than a question, “even with him rubbing all up against you right in front of me?”

Ash sighs, “There’s—there’s nothing between us, alright? And since when was this any of your bloody business?”

“Shit, no need to get touchy, I was just asking an honest question,” Tony says, shrugging, “I just hope you guys were careful.” 

Ash turns to Tony like he’s just insulted his mother, “What?” he asks. 

“I mean,” Tony starts, “you were obviously off your fucking face last night.” 

Ash squints at him, “What?“ he repeats, “You implying that I can’t make my own safe decisions?”

“You know what I mean.“

“You think Dean forced me?” 

Tony shrugs, “Were you in a place to object otherwise?” 

“Jesus fucking christ, Tony,” Ash mutters, “just because I’m an omega it doesn’t mean—”

“But were you though?” Tony interjects. 

Ash levels him with a look, “You’re saying that my friend is the kind of shitbag that would take advantage of me like that? And you think _I’m_ weak enough to let him do it even if I didn’t want it, just because I’m an omega?” Tony knows better than to answer rhetorical questions like that, “You don’t know shit, Tony, nobody forced me to do anything.”

“Look, you’re taking this the completely wrong way, Ash,” Tony says. He has no fucking clue how this conversation crashed and burned but it definitely wasn’t his fault, “I’m sorry for showing concern for a friend. What a shitty thing of me to do.” 

It wasn’t because they may or may not have had sex—that’s not what bothers him, he’s not a fucking prude. It’s just that Ash was clearly extremely drunk and high last night. What kind of person would take advantage of an omega whose guard was completely down? No matter how much consent was given last night, he was not in the place to give it. 

"You clearly—"

“This talk is fucking over, Tony. Just drop me off here,” Ash says, “I’ll walk the rest of the way.” 

Tony turns to him to see if he’s serious, because Hank’s is still a few blocks away—not too long, but long enough of a walk for someone who is hungover and sleep-deprived. Ash is staring back at him, expectantly. 

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” he says, mockingly, “what, you think I’m gonna drunkenly stumble onto some random’s dick between here and Hank’s?” 

Tony tells himself he shouldn’t, but he’s had enough of Ash’s shitty attitude so he pulls over and drops him off after the next intersection.

“You’re _real_ fucking welcome for the ride, by the way,” he snarls as Ash unbuckles his seatbelt. Ash doesn’t respond as he slams the door. 

He glances at his rearview mirror as he speeds off, just in time to see Ash slump onto a bench with his head in his hands. Tony keeps on driving. 

—

Ash takes a few breaths through his nose in an attempt to clear the fog in his head.

Recounting the events of last night, he feels his stomach tie itself into tight, uncomfortable knots. Dean wouldn’t do that, and Ash had wanted it. Dean had been his friend for a long time.

After Dean kissed him, Ash had let the beta rub the side of Ash’s neck over the sensitive skin of his bonding site. The touch was gentle yet firm, and the pressure that Ash had been deprived of for so long was more than welcome. Ash had shivered then, and possibly whimpered, which would have done nothing but encourage the beta to continue, hands trailing down the sides of his arms as his mouth moved to replace his hands, moving slowly against his neck. The feeling of Dean’s tongue against that one spot turned Ash into putty in Dean’s hands, and it was all he could do to keep his hands gripping onto Dean’s shoulders, mouth slack as he panted softly into the night air.

He doesn’t how long they spent like that, Dean kissing and licking at his bonding site and Ash breathing heavy and fast. It was only when there was a warm murmur against his skin, a quiet _“I want you, I’ve always wanted you”_ and a slight scrape of teeth against his neck that sent Ash into a slight panic, and Dean, always the considerate one, always having Ash’s best interests at heart, had sensed the omega’s discomfort and immediately ceased his ministrations.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ash had apologised as Dean pulled away and watched him carefully, “I just—I don’t—”

“It’s fine, Ash, it’s fine. I got carried away,” Dean assured him, before he released Ash, “I shouldn’t have done that, especially since we’re not even—look, I should be the one apologising.” 

Dean, always so kind and understanding—so why couldn’t Ash do it? Was it his hands, not rough enough; his eyes, too blue, too gentle; his slate, too clean? His eyes searched Ash’s, waiting, so patient. And even as he moved in again to meet Dean halfway, Ash hated that he couldn’t bring himself to want him the way he wish he did.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks are spent staving off their boredom with little trips to clear out hideouts and crack houses—places filled with people that no-one would miss. Criminals, low-lives, the homeless. Nothing too flashy, just something to keep the blood flowing. 

“Anything interesting lately?” Alex asks just as she finishes rolling her fifth joint which she then tucks into her metal cigarette case. Her question is aimed at Corey on her left who’s slowly but surely making her way through the day’s newspaper, one ankle resting on top of the other knee.

“Nothing,” Corey answers blandly, “unless you’re interested in donating to the fundraiser to help Redwood Elementary build a gymnasium.”

Alex wrinkles her nose like she just caught a whiff of something putrid. She would sooner describe herself as a sentient hotdog than a fan of children, and the idea of donating her hard-earned money to them made her feel a little ill. What did they do to deserve her money? Sell chocolate? Yeah, piss off. She pulls out another sheet of rolling paper and gets back to work. To her right on the solo couch, Mark is helping himself to the pizza that sits on the table they’re all seated around. It has almost every kind of pizza meat possible piled onto a bed of gooey cheddar: ham, chorizo, veal, pepperoni, venison, generously drizzled with honey mustard and barbecue sauce, and seasoned with a little bit of rosemary and cracked pepper. He bites right into it and regrets it immediately when the piping hot cheese sticks to the roof of his mouth, burning his flesh raw.

“Betrayal!” Mark yells as he fans his open mouth. Stretchy bits of oily cheese drip from the pizza slice in his hand onto his beard but he’s in too much agony to notice. Without taking his eyes off the double-barrelled shotgun on the table, Ash slides his glass of water over to Mark.

If Ash has to be honest, he prefers smaller, lighter guns. They’re better for mobility and much less cumbersome to tote around (he still doesn’t understand how Alex has the strength and stamina to wield that beloved chainsaw of hers). However, they didn’t come close to the sheer power that shotguns possessed. When you have a clear shot of an enemy, and you know that once you pull the trigger it’s all over...it's that blossoming of red that sends a rush of adrenaline through Ash every single time. It’s so, so satisfying. 

Next to him, Tony is sipping a beer. 

Between them, things had been tense. They never got around to properly addressing “The Thing” that happened in the car. Arguments between them were nothing new, but there was something about the topic especially, that made Ash feel _off_. The problem, however, is that neither of them are willing to talk to the other and sort things out, and so they had both ignored it and hoped that it would go away. It didn’t. 

It’s not like they’d never had an argument before, oh no, they had arguments. But this one was different. It wasn’t like they’d argued about which approach they should take into a building, or which enemies they should take on so that they wouldn’t get outnumbered. Something about this particular spat had left a sour taste in both mouths, and for some reason or another, they couldn't just let it go like every other time. It was too weird a subject, too awkward. 

It left Ash a bit miffed, not just at Tony, but also at himself. Before that morning, Tony didn’t give a shit what (or who) he did in his spare time, but all of a sudden Tony had been all up in his business just because Ash had a couple of drinks and some bud at Dean’s. Granted, there _was_ in fact more that happened that night than just alcohol and weed, but nothing that should’ve sparked an argument, at least, not normally. 

(He had talked to Dean about what had happened. Things had initially been a little tricky to begin with—it happened when a person you’d originally thought was just a friend had suddenly wanted to sink his teeth into your bonding site—but they had both agreed it was a one-off. And while Dean had confessed to Ash, he’d also reassured him that he wasn’t expecting anything from him, and Ash felt the familiar ache of regret.)

He knows he was a bit over-reactive in the car with Tony that day. He had been on edge since Dean’s sudden confession the previous night, _I want you, I’ve always wanted you_. Ash hated himself for not being able to feel the same way about Dean. When Tony had grilled him in the car, it was the last thing Ash wanted, with Tony insinuating that Ash wasn’t able to take care of himself and that Dean was some sort of immoral scoundrel. It had only worked to cement the deep-rooted guilt sitting inside him. Because he _was_ able to make his own decisions, and that decision was that Dean, an almost perfect suitor, just wasn’t enough for Ash. Ash picks up the shotgun to examine it closer. He couldn’t shake the feeling of regret bubbling inside him, and the more Ash thought about it, the clearer it became. The reason why he can’t see Dean as anything beyond a good friend is because his body, his instincts, are screaming for something else. 

“I know betas aren’t what you’re looking for Ash,” Dean had said the morning after when Ash finally opened his eyes, before Tony arrived, “but if you ever change your mind, I’m always up for a round two.” 

Ash had laughed and playfully shoved him in lieu of a reply. 

—

Dealing with the aftershocks of their little argument had proved to be a rather confusing yet elucidating experience for Tony. After he dropped Ash off, he had driven straight home and cracked open a warm beer that had been sitting on his kitchen counter for a couple of days. He didn’t bother sipping it, opting to throw his head back and scull it instead, crushing the can in his fist as it went down. He chucked the empty can in his rapidly filling bin for recyclables and grabbed another from the fridge before he flopped onto the couch. 

There was something in Ash’s eyes when Tony had made the comments about him and Dean. It wasn’t just pure anger in those piercing greens. When he glanced over, when Ash looked at him with that expression, Tony felt slightly winded. He had looked genuinely hurt.

—

It’s when he’s a few too many beers in that he has a revelation—it’s not one he wants to have nor one he ever expected to have, but it happens nonetheless. Thinking of Ash answering the door of that beta’s house, wearing that beta’s shirt, covered in that beta’s scent like he’d been _soaking_ in it, the way the beta had wrapped his hand around Ash. It wasn’t the PDA that had agitated him so.

The way Ash had tilted his head ever so slightly, presenting his bare neck, the movement so minuscule it was almost unnoticeable, so demure and so sweet.

Oh, the alpha inside him had reared its ugly head at that. 

He had tried to convince himself that it was nothing but instincts. Perhaps his lizard-brain of old had subconsciously deemed Alex and Ash as omegas that were under his care, despite the fact that they were both clearly more than capable of holding their own. But no matter how hard he tried to force himself to believe that, he couldn’t ignore the voice of logic and reason residing in him that told him that if it had been Alex he would have just been in a rush to get home, nothing else. He wouldn’t have interrogated her on the nature of the relationship, he would have automatically assumed that she was able to make her own decisions like an adult, and if that wasn’t the case—he would trust that she could deal with the repercussions on her own. He would have happily kept his nose far, far away from her business. 

How or when it started, Tony had no clue. It could have started months before he himself even consciously realised it. Maybe it was that time Tony was pinned under someone even bulkier than he was, and Ash, still bleeding profusely from the stab wound on his right arm, had run in and sent a bullet bursting out through his temple on the other side of the man’s head. The first thing Ash did afterwards was pull Tony up with his one good arm, and ask if Tony was okay, as if blood wasn’t leaking out between his thin fingers from the huge gash along his shoulder. Or it may have been the time Tony had looked over as they were shooting and punching and slashing their way through a warehouse, and he watched as the swan ducked under the swinging arm coming for Tony, pressed the barrel of his gun to the poor bastard’s bottom jaw, and sent his brain’s flying out the back of his skull, all done with an easy elegance.

But that was just teamwork, that was looking out for each other. He’d received the same, from Mark, from Corey, from Alex.

So maybe, it had been that very moment when Ash answered the door, hair soft and feathery, eyes still clouded. For the first time since they’d met, Tony saw Ash as not just someone who was capable of killing in cold blood or someone that had saved Tony’s life on more than one occasion, but also an omega. An unmarked omega, with a scent that sang to Tony, a bewitching call of a siren. 

Don't get him wrong, Ash is still a huge pain in the ass, as stubborn as they come and as defiant as ever.

But Tony…well, Tony was an alpha, one as single as they come, and Ash was, admittedly, an aesthetically pleasing omega to look at, once he’d really taken the time to actually look.

But no, he tried to convince himself, this is Ash he’s talking about. There were so many things that wouldn’t work between them, the first and most obvious being the fact that it was common knowledge that, if not in combat, the two of them were unable to remain within a two metre radius of each other without having an altercation, no matter how minor. He had never seen Ash in light of his endotype because he’d never allowed himself to humour the idea of being the alpha to Ash’s omega. 

Until that day. 

Knowing someone else had put his hands on Ash’s bare skin, skimmed his lips over the steady, rhythmic pulse of Ash’s jugular—it had burned into his mind the image of Ash, bloodthirsty, unmerciful Ash, laid out beneath someone else, submissive and receptive to _his_ touches, moaning into _his_ mouth—it ignited something in Tony, something he never even knew existed. Something combative, something possessive.

Had Ash always been this pretty?

No, he doesn’t know exactly when it all began, but it’s like his body has recognised this new-found perspective and now it feels the need to tell him every time Ash was in his vicinity, as if it were of great importance. It would start off with just the scent, like delicate petals floating through the air. Then once he’d seen Ash, listened to his heartbeat, it would be all he could hear. 

Tony had attempted to keep his distance in hopes it would somehow rectify this situation; he wanted to let his hormones settle, burn off his excess energy. Maybe it had just been triggered by that one event and it would calm down once he’d had some time away from the omega. However the only thing it accomplished was sensitising Tony to Ash’s particular brand of scent and sound. Right now, with Ash sitting next to him, he wishes he brought a clothes peg with him to the bar to stick on his nose. Ash’s scent unfurls around him as flagrant as ever, reaching out like tendrils, brushing against Tony’s senses, coaxing him closer, and closer still, all while Ash inspects the gun in front of him, completely oblivious.

“Oh, guys!” Ash shoots up suddenly, “Guys, I just remembered something. Guys!” 

“What?!” Tony snaps, before taking a swig of his beer. Ash glares in his direction before continuing.

“You guys know Tommy, right?” he doesn't wait for the others to answer, perfectly aware that he sounds like a gossiping schoolgirl, “Tommy Johnson? Eric told me that the motherfucker has this radio, right, and it can pick up police frequencies and shit.” 

Mark perks up at the sound of it. “Really? How do we get our hands on something like that? Can you imagine if we had that? We wouldn’t have to drive around like wannabe vigilantes anymore.”

“Did he tell you anything?” Alex presses, “Like, did he tell Eric about anything that he might’ve heard?”

“Yeah,” Ash answers, and Mark wiggles excitedly in his seat, “when he came into my work a couple nights ago, he bought a drink just before my shift ended and we had a talk. I managed to get some info out of him,” he leans in and lowers his voice, “turns out there’s this place—I wrote the address down somewhere—a huge multi-family house, that apparently the police have been investigating lately for suspicious activity. The investigation appears to still be in its early stages, according to Eric. He didn’t give me too many details, but he said from what he’s heard, it’s highly likely that there’s some pretty illicit shit going down in there,” he pauses and leans back, “my money’s on drugs.”

Alex looks visibly excited, bouncing in her seat. If the police were involved it was probably something good. Maybe they’ll even find something worth taking in there.

“I’m pretty tuckered out, though,” Corey says as she stretches, dropping her roll of newspaper onto the table.

“Let’s call it a day for now,” Mark suggests, “but tomorrow, let’s hit it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for those who want it: this is where the non-con elements come into play.

The new day rolls in with the promise of thunder and heavy rain. The sky is a thick, homogeneous blanket of frothy grey, and the air crackles all around the city. Ash wakes up, bleary-eyed and disorientated. He cranes his neck to check the clock on his bedside table and registers the glowing red numbers. It’s a little past noon, and he’s not surprised—he didn’t expect to get up before midday anyway. Ash rolls out of bed, taking half his blanket with him, brushes his teeth, rinses his face, and totters into the kitchen. On the way there he’s greeted by the sight of Alex lounging on the couch with a plate resting on her stomach as she watches some cooking competition show on TV.

“We’ll leave around midnight,” Alex informs him without even turning around, “Mark checked out the place this morning, says it’s probably like a forty minute drive from the hideout—no! Don’t use the goddamn ice-cream machine—” 

Ash replies with a simple “yeah, alright” and pours himself a bowl of cereal. He eats it dry when he opens the milk and the sour smell of spoilt, days-expired milk assaults him.

“Alex,” Ash calls out, sifting through the tupperware container sitting on the kitchen counter with one hand as he pours the milk down the sink with the other, “did you take my suppressants?”

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah. Sorry,” she says, “I ran out.” 

Ash groans, chucking a bunch of open foil blister packs onto the table, “Alex!” he says, exasperated, “Couldn’t you have gone out and bought your own?”

“Eh, too lazy,” she says. Alex purses her lips when he glares in her direction.

“Goddammit. You owe me,” he demands, pointing at her, “I’m going out now for brunch with Devyn, but tomorrow, on my bedside table before I wake up, a new packet.” 

“Holy shit, okay,” she replies, getting up to put her plate in the sink and shoving him out of the way, “you’ll be fine. Drama queen.”

—

The worst of the storm passes as quick as it came, and all that's left is the petrichor that blankets the city. 

—

It’s almost pitch black when Tony gets to the hideout just as Mark arrives. The hideout is less a building and more an empty shell of what used to be a townhouse, now fallen victim to erosion and the ruinous effects of urban blight. Mark had discovered it when he was still delivering pizza for the old pizzeria run by a man in glasses and a full orange beard. He had taken a wrong turn and discovered the area, full of decrepit buildings and amok with bony, disease-ridden rodents. Back then he didn’t stay long, partly fearful for his safety in such a part of town (he was younger then, and a lot less well-equipped to handle being attacked, should it happen), and partly worried as the pizza was starting to get a bit cold. 

When the rest of the crew expressed their desire for a place where they could all congregate to plan and prepare for their ventures, a place that wasn’t public or a place of residence, Mark had somehow remembered that this building existed. He wasn’t sure if it was still going to be there when he went to have a look, but he was pleasantly surprised upon the discovery that it had withstood that test of time—perhaps a good seven, eight years—as well as evaded demolishment to make way for progression of the city. _“It looks like a place squatters would hide in and cook krokodil”_ Ash had pointed out when he first showed them. He wasn't wrong, but Mark vouched for it. It was inconspicuous, being amongst other similarly old and cracked buildings, and the walls looked relatively solid and the ceiling was yet to cave in. It would do, they all agreed, and thus their “HQ” was established. Mark liked calling it that, it made him feel like a superhero, a vigilante. 

They had also saw fit to convert one of the nearby buildings—fittingly, an old abandoned pub—into a sort of “party hideout”, where they could just let loose, invite a few friends, and if something that would have otherwise found them on the wrong side of the law happened, they were relatively safe from prying neighbours and nosey passers-by rubbernecking in their cars—not that many people would drive down this particular street at one or two in the morning anyway. All-in-all, it was an area that they have claimed as their own, a hub where they could get together, whether it was going to be a night of fun, or a night of pure violence. 

They wait patiently for the others, sitting on the old couch Tony stole from his ex-girlfriend after she had kicked him out of their apartment with Mark’s help as second couch-mover and Corey as getaway van driver (stealing the couch took way too much effort for it to be justified by Tony’s pure spite and bitterness, but it was an adventure in itself so Mark and Corey let it slide).

“Hey Tony,” Mark begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “you been alright lately?” 

Tony turns to look at Mark, slightly thrown-off by the question, “Uh, yeah, why?”

Mark shrugs, “You’ve been a bit off, is all. Less complain-y, more…broody,” he keeps going before Tony can protest, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but if this is going to affect how you work tonight, I gotta know, man. Can’t have you dying because you’re thinking about other shit, y’know? You gotta be focused,” he slaps the back of his hand into the palm of the other.

Tony sighs. He’s tempted to let it out, tell Mark everything because, well, it’s Mark. That fact alone makes Tony consider it for a bit. He takes a breath.

“It’s…it’s about—” he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, rethinking his decision, “you know what, it’s nothing. Just hormones.”

“Hormones?” Mark repeats, slightly confused at the vague reply. Before he can press further, the sounds of other voices and footsteps echoes through the building.

“‘Sup bitches,” Alex announces as she enters, Ash and Corey following close behind, “ready for another ruckus night?” 

“Fuck yeah,” Mark answers. He’s genuinely pumped for the night ahead, but he can’t help but feel a little inkling of concern for Tony.

Normally, if something was bothering Tony…shit, you would know. Mark recalls a time when Tony wouldn’t shut up about the lady at the supermarket who took the last box of Frosted Flakes on the shelf, despite him—in his words—making his intentions very clear, having eyed the box from the end of the aisle.

_“Also, the Frosted Flakes mascot? Tony? The tiger?” Tony ran his hands in front of him, gesturing to his entire blood-splattered body, tiger mask and all, “I fucking deserved that last box!”_

So Tony passing up the opportunity to bitch about something that was obviously getting to him was very strange—unheard of, in fact. Not to mention the sudden shut down when the other three arrived at the safehouse. It’s all extremely suspicious. Was he worried that they had heard snippets of their conversation? Was it something really embarrassing? What was he on about when he said “hormones”? His alpha hormones had never bothered him before and they were way past the point of puberty. He glanced over and noticed Tony’s unwavering gaze on the three in the corner. 

There was a time that Mark had drunkenly taken Tony’s wallet home after a night of heavy drinking. Mark hadn’t noticed either, until after he had burst into his own apartment, fell backwards onto his couch, and felt the presence of two wallets in both back pockets of his pants digging into his glutes. When he went to return the wallet the next morning, the girl that answered the door wasn’t the girl he was expecting. Mark was aware that Tony had a fuckbuddy, it wasn’t a secret because Tony isn’t exactly quiet about these sorts of things, but this girl was different. She did, however, have a couple of things in common with his usual piece, and furthermore, something in common with Tony’s ex-girlfriend (the former owner of the very couch he was sitting on). For one, they were all omegas—though that was almost a given due to his being an alpha, the second thing being their hair colour. A light, golden blonde that shone even in the dimmest of lights. So it seemed, Mark gathered, that Tony had a predilection for omegas with long blonde hair, in particular, blondes of that shade.

He watched as Alex put her hair in a ponytail, hair-tie dangling out of her mouth. Her long, blonde hair.

“Get your shit ready, guys” Corey’s voice cut through his moment of clarity, “it’s almost go time.”

—

They all climb into the van with Mark at the wheel, and set off for South West 104th street.

—

“Corey, do some recon: possible points of entry, exits, people on the lookout—you know, that shit you always do,” Tony instructed. 

With the rest of them parked on the other side of the road, hopefully obscured by the shadows of the taller buildings along the street, she nods before stepping out. They wait patiently. All of them knew better than to worry about Corey. 

“So,” Mark whispers to Tony while the twins are chatting amongst themselves, “Alex, am I right?” 

Tony turns to him, brows furrowed, “What?” 

“She looks good tonight, doesn’t she?” 

Tony fixes him with a very perplexed stare and Mark doesn’t detect any increase in heart rate, or anything for that matter, indicating that Tony is reacting to his comment with something other than confusion, “Dude, she looks the same as always. What are you on about?” then his eyes widen, “Mark, are you hot for Alex?” 

“Wh—me? No, what, I thought you—”

Gunshots ring out.

Without hesitating, the rest of them pull on their masks and jump out of the van, brandishing their weapons as they sprint across the street and onto the property.

“They’re round the back,” Tony says, before ordering the others, “there’s a lot of them outside, so Alex, Ash, you guys go in and clear out the rest that are camping in the building. You’re with me, big guy.” 

The swans nod and take off, leaving Mark and Tony to find Corey before she becomes more lead than flesh.

They round the corner and Tony ducks behind a pile of old tires just as a bullet grazes his cheek and Mark fires a volley into the crowd. The lighting is extremely poor, but he thinks he spots another pile of tires a couple of metres away, closer to the people currently shooting at them with reckless abandon. He takes a few deep breaths, and when he’s ready, he kicks off the ground. Just as he reaches it, a body crashes into him with a force that knocks him onto the ground. Reflexes kick in, and he grabs the person and rolls to pin them on the ground, he lifts a white-knuckled fist up—

“Fuck! No no no—don’t—it’s me, it’s me, Corey,” she blabbers, hands pushing at Tony’s chest. He looks down to see the familiar zebra mask staring up at him. Immediately the tension in his shoulders leaves and he releases her so she can take her place next to him as they scramble to press against the tires, “fuck man, these guys are way more prepared than I had expected. Must be the recent police surveillance or something.” 

“No shit,” Tony replies, “hold up.” 

He peeks around the pile of tires and sees a man empty his clip into what he probably believed was their hiding spot, and as their assailant attempts to reload, Tony takes advantage of the short respite to grab him and send him flying into the man beside him. He kicks their guns away, and launches himself on top of one of them in second—he pummels his fist into the guy’s face, before grabbing a tight, fistful of hair and cracks the second man’s face with his comrades skull. Corey jumps out before a third can react, and jams a knife into the side of his throat, not bothering for a clean kill, relishing in the gurgling that bubbles forth.

They both stumble back and stare at the dead bodies. 

“Nice.” Corey breathes out. 

“Yeah, you too.” Tony replies. 

“Heads up guys!” Mark yells, as another door slams open.

—

The inside looks just like how one would expect a house-turned-drug den to look. The wallpaper is old and yellowed, torn and peeling from corner to corner, exposing the crumbling plaster behind it. The walls have the occasional spray paint on it: drawings of dicks, tags, and messages straight out of a B-grade horror movie. They cautiously inspect room after room for anything of interest, perhaps bricks of cocaine—maybe they’ll even stumble upon a meth lab, who knows? It is oddly quiet, though, the purr of her chainsaw the only sound in the building it seems. They encounter a staircase and Alex turns to her brother.

“Should we head up—”

BANG!

A bullet hits her in the shoulder of her vest and sends her crashing into Ash.

“Fuck!” she hisses. Her shoulder begins to throb—that’s definitely gonna leave a bruise. She looks up and Ash is already shooting at the figure on top of the stairs, and manages to lodge a bullet right in the middle of the man’s face, “Let’s go!” 

The two swans make their way up the stairs when they hear the storm of footsteps on the next storey, only to be met by more people with weapons ready to attack them at the stairs. Alex swings her chainsaw and manages to hit two of them—one clipping right across the throat, and the other a hit to the shoulder. The bodies both hit the floor and Alex drives her foot down into their faces before they can get up. She lands a foot perfectly on one of their jaws and he screams in agony as her foot breaks his mandible clean off. Ash is shooting behind them now, as seemingly more and more attackers arrive.

“Where the fuck are they coming from?!” Ash yells from behind his mask. They must have been hiding in some of the rooms, dead quiet, waiting for the perfect opportunity for an ambush, or maybe they were coming back from outside. They pour in from inside the rooms, and from the floors above and below them, but Alex doesn’t have the time to answer him over the sound of his gun, doesn’t even have the time to glance back to check if he’s okay, because she’s busy dealing with the three men, two with knives and one with a crowbar, advancing on her. 

She manages to hit Crowbar and one of the knife-men with her chainsaw, the teeth of her weapon shredding through their clothes and slicing through their skin. She swings again. This time the chainsaw cuts right through one of their faces, sending blood splattering on the wall beside them, before burying itself in the other’s chest. However, the third man, equipped with a knife leaps forward as Alex takes a little bit longer to take the chainsaw out of the man’s thorax. He swings his arm in a wide arc, blade of his knife nicking her arm, but she manages to kick him away, knocking him flat on his back as she wrenches her chainsaw free. Alex kicks him in the face, steel-capped boots connecting with his teeth. She’s about to deal the finishing blow when she hears someone run in behind her. He’s holding a baseball bat (are they running out of weapons? she thinks to herself), but it doesn’t do him much good when the chainsaw sinks into his soft belly and turns him into ribbons. She brings her attention back to the man before. He’s on his stomach now, trying to crawl his way towards a discarded knife as thick strings of blood leak out from between his torn lips. Alex stands over him drives the end of the chainsaw into the man’s neck, listening to the wet, whirring sounds as she decapitates her victim.

When she lifts her weapon, she takes a huge breath.

“Ash?” she calls out. 

No answer. She looks around the room. The floor is a sea of gore and dead bodies. Fortunately, none belonged to her brother, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

“Ash!” She’s starting to panic a bit now. He never left her side, it wasn’t him to just run off in the middle of an ambush to fight on his own. She makes her way to the rooms on the floor, calling out his name as she does so. A bedroom, a bathroom, another bedroom, a study—all empty.

“Fuck,” she mutters to herself, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

She runs down the stairs and bursts out the side door. She can hear the others around the back. Heart in her throat, she runs over. Tony is standing over a body, Corey is wiping blood off her katana, and Mark is mounting his guns on his back. They all turn to look at her as she catches her breath. Tony is the first to speak.

“Alex?” he says, “Where the fuck’s Ash?” 

“I—” she swallows, “I don’t know.” 

—

Ash opens his eyes. He sees nothing but black. He’s lying on his side on cold, smooth concrete. There’s a cloth shoved into his mouth, and another wrapped around to keep the makeshift gag from falling out. He tries to stretch, and when he feels rough rope chafe against his wrists and ankles, all semblance of grogginess leaves him immediately. There’s a throbbing pain at the back of his skull, like he’d been clubbed by some sort of heavy, blunt weapon—and given the circumstances, it was probably what had happened. He cranes his neck, trying to get his bearings, take in his surroundings via scent alone, and notices that he doesn’t have his mask on. His pulse quickens and his breathing turns shallow. Where is he? Where’s Alex? The last thing he remembers is being attacked in the building they were meant to be raiding. Is he still in the building? How long was he out for?

“Hey,” he hears a voice, gravelly and deep, “he’s awake.” 

From what he can sense, he’s in a room with alphas. The air is a cocktail of different scents all carrying that particular “alpha” quality, strong and rich, demanding attention; there are a few betas mixed in there somewhere, though, hovering amongst the more overpowering scents. A pair of hands curl around his arms and lift him from the ground to prop him up against something hard—a box or a crate, he assumes. There are approximately five of them, judging by how many distinctive scents he could pick up. He shuts his eyes. The back of his head is still aching like crazy and he feels a little dizzy. 

He hears the unpleasant scrape of a chair as one of them gets up and makes his way over to Ash in long, heavy strides. Rough fingers seize his chin, tilting his head up.

“I dunno how you managed to find out about us, but you kids picked the wrong people to fuck with today,” he says, “what were you trying to do, huh? Steal from us? Thought you could come in here, take some coke or—or crystal, and waltz outta here and be rich? Is that it?” 

His thumb runs slowly along Ash’s jawline, a soft caress that makes Ash’s hair stand on end.

“Do you know who we are or what we do?” when Ash doesn’t respond, he continues, “No? No idea?”

The man uses his other hand to fix the blindfold, pulling it down a little more. “It was perfect timing when you two came along—unfortunately we couldn’t get ahold of that girl you were with. Would’ve been better having the two of you,” and Ash, despite his current state, feels a spark of relief knowing that Alex is safe.

He strains against the bindings around his wrist. This is not how he expected the night to go. 

“See, we _were_ gonna kill you, but then we thought that this would be much more fun,” the man says, “we're gonna teach you a lesson, and there’s nobody left to help you. Your little friends? Probably dead, if they haven’t already fucked off with their tails between their legs.” 

There’s a pause, and Ash assumes they’re somehow communicating silently. No, there’s no way they would’ve left without him, and they wouldn’t die to these amateurs. There’s just no way.

“Why don’t we show you what we do, hey? Since you seem to be so eager to find out,” he continues, his voice adopting a tone so friendly it’s sick. Ash tries to twist his head away, to get the man to let go, but his grip tightens instead, “having one omega is hardly enough to trial this on, but who are we to complain when you just delivered yourself to us? Even though you did leave quite the mess up there.”

Ash panics. These sick fucks were going to use him for some kind of bullshit science experiment. He knows everyone in the room can hear his heartbeat hammering away under his ribcage, but he doesn’t know how to stop his heart from giving him away. The man finally lets go and Ash hears something being uncapped. There’s a few taps, and he hears the faint squirt of liquid, feeling a few drops land on his cheek. 

God, Ash was going to die here. These guys were fucked. He tries to move away, to get his hands out of the binds of the rope, to push the man away with his legs. However, just as he begins to struggle, there are hands on him holding him still, on his ankles, on his shoulders, and one hand under his chin, tilting his head up, exposing his throat.

“Hold still,” the man warned, voice low and commanding. Ash obeyed if only for the fact that there were several pairs of hands restraining him.

He presses a thumb at the base of Ash’s neck in his jugular furrow, and Ash squirms at the discomfort. 

“My friends,” the man announces, addressing the others in the room, “the newest product, faster acting and much more potent than ever before.” And with that, Ash feels pressure, then a sting at the skin of his throat, and a rush that hits hard and fast, and suddenly he is falling into the void.

—

When he finally comes to, once again, he is greeted by the sensation of burning. His whole body feels ignited. He opens his eyes but his eyelids are heavy, and everything is black. Everything around him feels like it’s pressing down on him, he can feel the walls of the room undulating from all sides, and it is so hot. So, so hot. 

He takes a deep breath and—oh fuck, oh God. That smell. He breathes in again. Something powerful fills his lungs. It’s all around Ash, wrapping around him like a thick mink blanket. His mind is filled with a thick smog, and through it he can barely register the body in front of him. A musky scent—alpha—he wants to lean into it, but a conscious part of his brain, somewhere, switches on. 

He's still in that place, tied up, blindfolded, gagged. 

He drops his head to his raised knees trying to block out the scent when someone touches his forehead, simultaneously lifting his face and pushing his blond hair off his face. Ash twitches at the contact. It’s electrifying and Ash wants—needs more, now overly sensitive to the faintest of touches. It's then that he realises what it is that they do.

Whatever they injected him with must have been some sort of heat-inducing drug. His gut tells him it’s the drug that’s been rampant on the news, originally developed to help couples trying for babies, but recently modified for less than savoury purposes. The new “roofie”. There is no other explanation. His heat wasn’t due for a couple of days. 

“So you’ve probably figured it out by now, haven’t you?” the man in front of him speaks. Ash can barely stay focused as he already, slowly, begins to lose his ability to think for himself, his instincts creeping from the dark corners of his cursed physiology, up to the surface to take over, “We’ll make sure that you think twice next time you want to break in and steal someone’s hard work.”

Everything in front of him is beginning to feel like one big smear. He experiences a wave of heat wash over him, rushing from his head to the tips of his extremities, and he trembles. He knows that he’s starting to scent, feels the gradually building wetness between his thighs, and he can smell some of the alphas, and even some betas, responding. He knows, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Suddenly a hand runs down his leg, from his knees, down his calf, and Ash presses his head back against the crate. 

“Now don’t do anything stupid,” the man warns. Then to his surprise, the man unties the knot fastened around his ankles. He wishes he could muster the strength to kick the man in the face and make a run for it, but he knows for a fact that, arms still tied, blindfolded, and in his heat-induced stupor, he doesn’t stand a chance. His left leg slides down to the ground and he stays like that, limbs feeling like they’re filled with molten rock.

The scents grows stronger still, due to being in the presence of the unclaimed omega in heat. They wrap around Ash’s throat like vines, choking him and holding him in place. The man inches his way in between Ash’s legs, bringing himself closer. Ash feels something press against his throat, far too close to his bonding site. Then the man inhales and shudders.

“God,” he breathes, like he barely has a hold on his own sanity, running his hands up the sides of Ash’s thighs as if forgetting they have an audience, “such a pretty little thing, you smell incredible.” 

Ash is breathing heavily through his nose now, trying his best to hold back the sounds threatening to burst from within his chest. His body is responding to the presence of an alpha against him, nosing at his throat and obviously very receptive to his scent. The other alphas are probably either being kept in check by the betas, or they’re sitting on the other side of the room pressed against the opposite wall, trying their best to ignore the sweet, seductive, incredibly strong scent that is pulsating throughout the room. Rough hands slip under the hem of his shirt, brushing against his hip, and he clenches his teeth. He doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But then the man presses his lips against that sensitive spot right under his ear, and he feels an intense rush of sensation throughout his entire body. The man digs his blunt nails into his soft skin—

—and Ash moans, gag and dignity be damned.


	5. Chapter 5

“We were here,” Alex explains, frantic, “and—and then we were fighting and these guys wouldn’t stop coming at us, it was—I didn’t even have time to take a fucking breath, let alone keep track of where he was and when I was done, I—I looked over and he was just—just gone! Just fucking _gone_!” 

Corey places a hand on Alex’s shoulder and she whips around.

“We’ll find him,” and that’s all she says. Alex stares at her for a moment, before she nods, but her entire body is still in full-blown panic mode, trembling under Corey’s steady hand.

They scour the floor above and come back with nothing. They check every room, every floor, every wardrobe, bathroom—twice—and still nothing. Mark tries to keep Alex calm, but it doesn’t work, and he doesn’t blame her. They’re all worried for Ash but this is her twin brother, the other swan. They have had each other’s backs for longer than anyone else in the team. On every mission, and in life. Heading back down to the first floor, Corey suddenly holds up a hand, halting everyone in their path.

“I hear something…” Corey says, and Tony nods in agreement, “can’t hear what they’re saying, but there are definitely still people in this building.” 

“What?” Alex says, looking around, “We killed them all, didn’t we?” 

“Apparently not,” Tony says, tilting his head, “the voices seem to be coming from…underneath us?”

“But…” Alex says, confused, “we’re on the ground floor.”

—

Ten minutes of frantic searching finds them at the mouth of a hatch in one of the bedrooms hidden under a desk. It’s not exactly small but very easily missed during a cursory scan of the room.

“This must be it,” Alex says as she lifts it open, revealing a ladder leading into the darkness below, “some of these fuckers must’ve jumped down here to try and escape.”

They all hop down one by one and continue their trek, with only the alphas’ sense of hearing as their compass. It’s chilly down here, and the concrete walls and floor aren’t much for insulation. Around them, the air feels damp and smells like dirt and rust. 

Alex’s hearing isn’t as good, so she removes her mask in the hopes that she can hear what Tony and Corey are on about. It’s after a few harrowing minutes of blind searching when she senses something. It’s not what she hears that alarms her though, but what she smells. It’s a nauseating, saccharine fruity, floral scent that she identifies immediately as Ash. But even through the distance separating them, she can already sense that it’s too potent, too sweet. And laced all through his scent is that of a number of different alphas.

“Fuck,” she curses, “guys, take your masks off.”

“Ash?” Tony calls out as soon as his mask is off. The smell of Ash’s scent entwined with others brings back memories, but this time it isn’t just the scent of one harmless beta—it’s alphas, clearly responding to a heavily scenting omega. The image of Ash, desperate and drunk with his heat, surrounded by a bunch of unknown alphas makes him want to throw up. 

Alex nods, “His heat wasn’t meant to hit this early, but from the looks of things, we don't have much time before things go to shit.”

They make their way slowly through the “basement”, following the voices. The underground labyrinth is going further than any of them expected, and there is nothing to indicate that they’re going in the right direction except for the voices, which become clearer in the otherwise dead silence, and the potency of Ash’s scent, which becomes stronger with every step towards their destination. 

_“God,”_ Tony picks up, and he bristles, _“such a pretty little thing, you smell incredible.”_

He looks at Corey, who turns to him, and he knows she can hear the same thing. Then, there’s a loud moan. Corey is visibly taken aback, eyes wide and brows furrowed. That was Ash, it was definitely, unmistakably, Ash, and it did _not_ sound good.

The further down they go, the stronger and thicker the scent grows, and so do the sounds. On occasion there’s another moan, a grunt, some swearing—it’s painfully obvious what’s happening and it makes Tony want to vomit and tear off someone’s skin, dismember them, eviscerate them. Waves of blood crash against his eardrum as he and the others try to find Ash, _find him, find him, find him,_ with every part of his body screaming at him to _find him_. 

Until they finally reach a simple wooden door. 

"Here it is." Alex announces.

There’s omega sweetness simply oozing from under it. The scent is unbearably enticing at this point; a sweet mixture of Ash’s usual light fragrance, overlaid with a warmer sprinkling of vanilla and caramel. It curls around them as it still attempts to draw a mate in.

“I’m gonna put my mask on,” Corey announces, and quickly pulls her zebra head on, “we can’t let them see our faces.” They all know for a fact that that’s not the sole reason for it, but everyone lets it slide because she makes a good point. Corey lifts up a hand with three fingers to count down. Tony is filled with a primal rage, feeling the fury charge through his veins hot and filled with his most basal instincts telling him to seek and destroy.

It takes a few kicks for Mark to bust the door down, and when it swings open, they all burst through; weapons gleaming, even under the dim light of the room. In the time that it takes for them to break into the room, the people inside had time to ready themselves, and the advantage of barging in as a surprise was lost. There are already gunshots coming from the enemy as they attempt to suppress their ambush. They’re all wearing gas masks, either for anonymity, drug cooking, or to dampen the effects of Ash’s heat. All equally plausible, and also real bloody inconvenient for identifying the fuckers behind this entire operation.

Tony doesn’t bother dealing with them, knowing that the others will handle them. _His_ focus is locked onto the tied-up body sitting on the ground at the opposite side of the room. He sees a man close to Ash run away, and Tony locks onto him to chase him down, but as he’s sprinting over, one of the betas gets in his way. Tony charges at the man, and tackles him bodily to the ground. They both hit the concrete, his opponent taking the brunt of it, and he sends a spiked fist flying into the side of his head. Dark blood splatters on the concrete beside the man’s head, a stark contrast to the cold grey. The man swings at Tony, clocking him right in the side of his mouth. The man manages to roll out from under him during the brief moment when Tony checks if his jaw is still intact, but Tony grabs the respirator and pulls it off the man’s face as he drives his fist up, right into his throat. He lets out a cry of agony and Tony punches him in the face again, sending him to the ground once more. Then he swings again. And again. And again, until the man’s face is a disgusting pool of mangled flesh and bone. There are detached and broken teeth lying next to what was his head, sitting in a shallow puddle of warm blood. When he stops to catch his breath, his hands are shining and wet with blood. 

He wipes the blood on the man’s shirt as he turns his attention to the body sitting a few metres away. Ash. He’s still scenting like crazy, despite the absolute carnage all around him—Tony’s mask helps to dampen the scent but the proximity makes it very hard to ignore. Being in the room feels like trudging through the thick humidity of a rainforest. Tony runs over and swallows thickly as the scent grows stronger and stronger. When he reaches Ash it coils around him, a snake around its prey, smooth and sensual, and suffocating. It moves to sit at the back of his throat, beautifully sweet, and it sends a hot rush down to his groin like a flame chasing a trail of gasoline. Without the mask Tony is sure it would have been asphyxiated. And when he looks at Ash, flushed, blindfolded, bound and gagged, yellow hair sticking to his forehead, all he wants to do—all he can _think_ about doing—is fucking him. Right here, right now, hard, rough, fast, dirty. The other alphas can watch if they want, as Tony claims _his_ omega, because Ash was _his_ first, always has been. 

Wait, no. No. He mentally slaps himself and shakes his head, disgusted at the part of him that can think like that in this situation. It’s instincts, he tells himself. All instincts. He shoves all those thoughts into the back of his mind, doing his best to tell himself that he’s better than that. Ash needs his help right now. He pulls Ash’s pants up with a sickening lurch of his stomach as the severe implications hit him. But there’s also a part of him that breathes a huge sigh of relief when he can’t smell anything that implies the alpha had gotten close to finishing. He unties the blindfold and gag, watching as Ash takes a deep breath when the rag falls away. There’s some drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, but at this point, Ash is probably too far gone to even recall his own name. Tony calls over his shoulder for a knife that Corey promptly kicks his way, just as she shoves the end of a stolen crowbar into a man’s mouth as he lies on the floor. When Tony turns back around, Ash is leaning forward and he rests his cheek on Tony’s shoulder, desperate for some contact. 

“Tony?” he says right into Tony’s ear. The sound of his voice is so close and so raspy it gives Tony goosebumps all over.

“Yeah dude, it’s me,” he assures him as he moves his arms around in an awkward pseudo-hug to support him as he saws at the rope wrapped tightly around Ash’s red and raw wrists, letting Ash’s head sit on his shoulder, “you’re good now, Ash, you’re fine.”

Tony tries to ignore the tiny moan that escapes as he continues to cut the rope. The amount of contact must be driving Ash crazy, he realises, with his arms wrapped loosely around Ash. Ash rubs his cheek along Tony’s shoulder, desperate and needy. When Ash’s own arms are finally free, Tony jolts when they instantly drape themselves around his neck. Ash’s eyes are blown and unfocused as he tries to pull Tony closer.

He makes a soft little noise before slurring, “You smell so good.”

Tony’s heart beats extra hard the moment he hears those words drip through his lips. He’s frozen in place by the gaze of half-lidded, dark eyes that seem to burn into his own despite the mask he’s wearing. He can barely see the lush green of his irises. The hold around his neck tightens. Ash smells so sweet. 

And then the others gather around and Tony is forced to break away. He tries his best to ignore the pitiful whine that escapes from Ash at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Let’s just get him out of here,” Corey orders quickly.

—

Mark looks at the two of them, pressed close.

Oh shit, he thinks, wrong twin.

—

The whole van ride back is filled with an uncomfortable silence. Alex spends it trying to ignore the effects her own brother is having on the others. In the cramped confines of their vehicle, the scent is now a dense haze in the air. The windows are opened a crack to provide some ventilation, but it’s too risky to have them rolled down any more than a few centimetres, in case someone managed to peek inside and see them all with blood clots stuck on their clothes. Corey has her t-shirt pulled over her nose and Mark is gripping the steering wheel a little harder than usual, having had the unfortunate task of carrying Ash out and getting his scent all over himself. Tony has got his legs crossed in front of him (gross, Alex thinks) and he’s got his hand pressed over his nose and his mouth. Compared to the others he looks close to passing out—his eyes scrunched closed, and a few small beads of sweat forming at his temple. 

And yeah, there is the elephant in the van. 

There’s a reason omegas have a steady supply of suppressants that they take on a daily basis. A heat, if initiated, is something that is shared between an omega and an alpha, or a beta, usually their mate. A heat was an exhausting and physically taxing event that would last for three or four days. With a companion, at the end of it—while both parties would feel drained—there would also be a feeling of mutual satisfaction, like a tall glass of fresh spring water after a marathon. But alone, without suppressants, a heat was an uncomfortable ordeal, bordering on painful, and the omega would come out of it feeling groggy and sick, spending the next few days nursing their nausea and fever and headaches. In some cases, the omegas would have to go to the hospital for supportive care after due to excessive vomiting. Over the course of a few days they could lose copious amounts of fluid and electrolytes, and even body condition. It wasn’t common, but it definitely wasn’t unheard of. It was like a hangover on steroids, persisting for days on end, that no amount of greasy fast food and water could cure.

“So what are we gonna do?” Alex asks.

The rest of the question hangs in the air. Are they going to let Ash endure those agonising few days alone or is someone going to step up and take one for the team? Is anyone here even willing to do it or are they only responding to Ash based on biology alone? Maybe they would be worried about making things awkward; “don’t screw the crew”—it was a saying Alex learnt while in her highschool co-ed soccer team in order to preserve the dynamics of the team. 

Corey, while being an alpha, was very likely to reject the idea—Alex just could not see her being on-board with it. She was as distant as they come, a rare sort of alpha, and she’s never expressed an interest in sleeping with omegas before. With Mark, he viewed the others like siblings and nothing else so there was absolutely no way he was going to put his dick anywhere near Ash, meanwhile Tony and Ash spent more time arguing with each other than they did breathing. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Next to her, Ash lets out small whimper. His forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the window that is fogging up with each deep breath. He’s still barely awake, but his heat is peaking, rendering him unable to think, let alone speak coherently. 

“Anyone got any friends that are hot for Ash?” Mark asks, trying but failing to make light of the situation, “Didn’t that one kid try to hit on him on multiple occasions, remember, when we were at that party where Sweetie tried to jump off the roof to get her boyfriend to tell her he loves her? Alex, that one,” he clicks his fingers in an attempt to jog his memory, “you tried to give him a lap dance but it turned out he was actually into your brother—”

“Fuck off, Mark,” Alex interrupts, “I was several tequilas in by then.”

“—what’s his uh, what was his name…Johnny?”

“Jimmy,” Corey corrects, “and we are _not_ going to ask Jimmy, he’s still seventeen.”

“Wait, his phone,” Alex says, lifting her head, “I know a few of his friends that might be willing to…y’know, help him out. If I can just find someone and get ahold of their number…like Jack, or Tommy, or Dean—”

“I’ll do it.” 

Everyone’s attention snaps to Tony. There's a very brief pause, before Mark and Corey start laughing quietly and Alex looks over to the passenger seat, expecting him to scoff and tell them it was just a fucking joke. It never comes and Mark and Corey’s laughter taper off to a complete stop. Tony doesn’t say anything else. He avoids meeting eyes with everyone, seemingly finding the dark scenery outside much more intriguing instead, hand still over his the bottom half of his face.

“Wait, are y—are you serious?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Alex,” he snaps back. 

“I just—if you want to, I mean, I’m sure he’d be cool with it…” she looks to her right at Ash, it didn’t feel right to speak on his behalf, especially regarding something like this, and it was her fault that this whole thing happened, she’d taken her eye off him, and…she’d taken his suppressants that morning. If he ended up in hospital because of her…

“But I can ask someone else to do it, really,” Alex adds, “if it’s too awkward or—”

“I fucking said I’d do it, didn’t I?” he growls back, and that signals the end of the discussion.

—

_Fuck_ , Tony thinks to himself as Alex quietly, and with a subtle look of confusion on her face, thanks him. The van settles back into silence, save for the low roar of its engine. 

When Alex had listed all those names, Tony immediately felt uneasiness well up in his chest. On impulse, he blurted out his offer before without thinking. He didn’t think it through, and for a second he felt a shock of regret, but then again, there was no way he was letting Alex call any of them to deal with Ash right now.

But _shit_ , what has he gotten himself into?

— 

Tony scrubs his face with his rough palms and then stares at the body on his couch. Ash’s face is buried in one of Tony’s plush couch cushions, rubbing his cheek against it, hot and desperate any sort of contact. His vest is tossed haphazardly onto the ground along with his boots, the ones that Tony had to wrestle off him beforehand. He takes a deep breath and sighs, regretting it immediately when he takes in nothing but pure omega pheromones, the sweetness blazing right into the pits of his stomach. Ash’s scent is now permeating throughout his living room and Tony considers having a cold shower to deal with the rising problem in his pants. He hadn’t really planned this far ahead when he volunteered in the van, but it’s too late to do anything about it now—there’s no way he can back out now. What choice did he have? The others are expecting him to return Ash fit as a fiddle by the end of it and there was no fucking way he was getting anyone else to come and do it for him.

He takes another look at Ash. He watches, equal parts surprised, aroused, and fascinated. Tony gulps. He almost wants to look away. 

Almost.

This is Ash, Ash Davis, snarky and sharp-tongued, reduced to a sweating, heated mess on his couch. Ash, whose presence has tormented Tony’s thoughts for far too long now, so good and ready for him. As if hearing his thoughts, Ash turns his head slightly and he meets Tony’s orange eyes with a feral gaze, pupils blown and surrounded by a stark rim of piercing green, he looks at Tony with eyes that convey everything that Ash himself is too incoherent to say, but Tony understands them all too well.

_Come and fuck me._

And whatever modicum of self-control that Tony possesses, snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super short chapter! going to be a bit busy this upcoming week, but i thought i'd at least give u guys this tidbit before i get swamped!


	6. Chapter 6

He closes the distance between them in two strides and looms over Ash, placing a knee on the couch next to his body. His hand touches the side of Ash’s face to lift it up and turn it towards him, Ash’s skin unexpectedly smooth and too-warm against his palm. Tony leans down, chest pressing against the taller’s back as Ash gets up on his elbows to catch his lips with his own, sending a burst of electricity rushing through his veins the moment he feels those absurdly soft lips against his. Ash doesn’t waste a second moaning into Tony’s mouth as his eyes flutter shut, needy and loud, and Tony feels a searing heat coil in his abdomen grow hotter by the second. Tony deepens the kiss, opening his mouth and swiping his tongue over Ash’s bottom lip, coaxing him to do the same. They stay like that for God knows how long, mouths moving together, kissing each other with their eyes closed. When they finally part, Ash’s head drops back down between his arms, but he is by no means done. 

Tony sucks in a sharp breath of air when something presses against his crotch. It doesn’t take long for him to realise it’s Ash, pushing against him. He’s hard as fuck—has been since the ride back—and he hisses when Ash repeats the action. Tony gets up and grips Ash’s shoulder with one hand and flips him so that he’s lying on his back, and Tony takes a little moment to relish in the sight of Ash’s dazed expression as he pants through kiss-swollen lips. His cheeks are flushed and his yellow hair fans around his head like a halo. Tony could get used to this, blond hair contrasting against the dark fabric of his sofa—or his bedsheets, he muses. Ash has his right leg draped on the sofa and his left foot planted on the ground with Tony sitting comfortably in the v of his long limbs. Tony reaches down to grab his left thigh, bringing it up so that Ash can hook it around his waist as he leans down to rest his elbows on either side of Ash’s head to capture his lips once more. The kiss this time is fuelled by desperation. Ash wraps his arms around Tony’s neck to pull him even closer and he kisses back with fervour, with a bruising strength that turns Tony on more than he would care to admit. He rolls his hips forward into Ash and the blond lets out a small sound that Tony barely catches. 

“Ash,” Tony mumbles into the kiss, but Ash doesn’t answer, just chases Tony’s mouth when Tony tries to pull away, “Ash—wait,” he cradles Ash’s face in his hands to stop him from moving, with one hand on his forehead pushing the hair out of the away. 

“Look,” he begins, “I’m doing this because I’m your…” he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Ash or himself, “Ash, I still need you to be okay with this,” he says, because fucking your friend when he’s drunk on a heat will probably not be taken too well, especially not after criticising Dean for doing something similar. The glazed-over look on Ash’s face is not very promising. He sighs. 

“Ash—”

“It—it’s fine,” Ash slurs out, voice rough from not speaking for hours, “it’s alright.”

“You’re…absolutely sure?” He’s never been so uncertain in his life.

Ash looks at him, and with a startling amount of clarity, “I’m sure.” 

Tony feels his heart stutter when he presses his nose into the side of the omega’s neck where his scent is strongest. He inhales, listening to the whine that spills from Ash’s mouth, and allowing the scent to engulf his senses. It fills his lungs, sending his thoughts spiralling into an abyss, leaving him breathless, speechless, and _God_ he was so hard it was painful. Ash’s hands find purchase on his biceps and he feels a tongue trace along the shell of his ear as puffs of hot air spill down the side of his neck. He reluctantly sits up to undo his belt, but Ash is latched on like a parasite, already moving with him to mouth at Tony’s throat. It’s painfully distracting, especially when Ash trails back to suck on the spot just behind his ear and Tony lets out a moan, arousal already heightened by the thick haze of pheromones they’re swimming in, but he finally, _finally_ pulls the belt free, sliding it off his pants and letting it drop to the ground with a satisfying _clink_. Ash nips at the sensitive skin and Tony growls. 

When he finally pulls his cock out, he expects the second hand that joins his but it doesn't stop him from groaning out loud. He looks down and sees Ash’s thin fingers along with his around his member and curses. This is something he would have only imagined a few hours ago, and now that it’s actually happening, Tony is having trouble processing it. Ash moves his hands slowly at first, encouraging Tony’s hands to move with him as he continues kissing the alpha, desperate for as much contact as possible.

He pushes Ash back down on the sofa so he can trail his fingers down until they reach where Ash is wet with omega slick. The thought that Ash was this soaked, smelling like this, in that room full of unknown, undeserving alphas, makes something hot and dangerous unfurl in Tony’s chest. An inferior alpha had the fucking gall to touch Ash, like he was worthy. He circles the rim with his middle finger in hopes of encouraging Ash to relax, spreading his slick over his entrance, and when he finally feels Ash loosen up, he slips his finger in, enjoying the way it sinks in a little too easily in one swift movement. Ash moans as he rolls his hips, trying to impatiently fuck himself on Tony’s finger, but a large hand pushing down on his hips is enough to still him. Tony takes his reaction as a positive sign, and begins to move his finger, pushing it deeper. Tony adds another, slowly, carefully, not wanting to rush and run the risk of hurting Ash due to sheer impatience. 

He peppers kisses all along Ash’s torso. He wants to erase the touch of everyone else that has ever been fortunate enough to see Ash like this, and replace them with nothing but his own brand. Ash belongs to Tony, if only in Tony’s own mind. He looks down at how Ash’s arms are thrown up above his head, white-knuckled against the arm of the couch, his flushed face on display—Tony commits this image to memory. Hot skin, breaths heavy and slow in time with Tony. There’s another loud moan as Tony curls his fingers and feels Ash shudder before he produces another fresh wave of slick. 

“How’re you doing?” he mumbles as he watches Ash’s eyelashes blink. 

Ash only sighs in response, the sound a mixture of content and pleasure. He lifts his head, and Tony leans in to kiss him. Their lips move languidly against each other as Tony scissors his fingers, hoping the kiss is enough distraction to allow him to prepare Ash better, before he finally adds the third. He thanks the cosmos for the omegas’ natural ability to breed—it made things a whole lot easier than they would be if he was a beta or another alpha. He watches Ash’s face for signs of excessive discomfort or pain and listens to his breathing. He’s too focused on thinking about whether Ash is comfortable or not, that he misses it when the blond mumbles something into his chest.

“What was that?”

“In me,” Ash repeats, his voice demanding, “now.”

“Gotta take off your pants first, genius,” Tony answers, smirking, but Ash doesn’t have the brainpower to hit back with an equally snarky response. Instead, he lies there in a boneless heap, so Tony takes it upon himself to fumble with his pants, the button proving to be quite the challenge for the alpha. A few flails and a tangle of limbs later, he finally shucks them off, joining Tony’s belt on the floor beside them. He moves to settle back between Ash’s legs, feeling them tighten around his waist.

Tony doesn’t waste a second. He grips Ash’s thigh with one hand and positions himself with the other, but Ash tenses up as soon as they make contact. Tony rubs his thumb along his skin in a meagre attempt to soothe him and get him to relax once more. Tony tries his best to be patient and make this as easy as possible, for the both of them. He brushes his lips against Ash’s clavicle, peppering kisses along it and following it up to kiss the along his jawline. Finally, he feels the head of his cock push in, the slick making it easy for him to slide in a few more inches before Ash hisses and the hands on Tony’s shoulders grip his shoulders like vices. 

“You alright?” he asks, hands moving to hold Ash’s waist, feeling Ash’s slender figure underneath the thin cotton t-shirt. The omega replies by rolling his hips. The movement forces Ash to take in more of him and Tony chokes.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, “how do you feel so fucking _good_?”

Ash whimpers as Tony thrusts shallowly into him. He reaches around and places his hands on Ash’s back to lift him up so that Ash is in his lap. The speed at which Ash sinks down onto him is painfully slow despite all the lubrication they have, and Tony makes sure to keep Ash’s mind elsewhere. His hands travel under Ash’s shirt, calloused hands roving over the slight dips and curves of Ash’s lithe body, as if memorising every subtle definition of lean muscle beneath his fingertips. After a few achingly slow-moving moments, Ash’s forehead drops down to rest on Tony’s as he finally buries himself to the hilt. Tony mumbles quiet words of praise and encouragement—“you’re doing so good”, “you’re okay”—as he skims his hands along Ash’s side with just enough pressure to soothe him, down his ribs, caressing his waist, along the ample curve of his backside, then further as he feels the slick running down the inside of his thighs, some of it smearing onto Tony’s pelvis. He waits for Ash to accustom to having his dick inside him—Tony can’t imagine it’s all that comfortable. 

But then Ash lifts himself up onto his knees, leaving only the head inside him, before his grinds back down onto it, drawing out a guttural moan from Tony whose hands find purchase on the delicate slope of his hips. He repeats the action rhythmically as Tony matches his tempo with strong thrusts of his own, until Ash is bouncing in his lap like being fucked by Tony is the only thing keeping him alive. Ash rides him with pure and utter desperation, head thrown back and exposing the long column of his neck to Tony. Through the carnal sounds of skin hitting skin, Ash’s loud and unabashed cries of his name and keening sounds of pleasure, and his own grunts, he can hear the blood rushing through Ash’s jugular just under his skin, his heart pumping, beating loud and fast. He drives himself into Ash’s willing body, teeth clenched as he holds back from biting into Ash’s throat. He’s here because he agreed to help Ash through his heat, not to bond with him without previous consent. But even then, Ash’s tight heat was divine, wrapped around him like he’s moulded specially to fit only Tony, like his body was created for him, and only him.

Tony glances down. The fabric of Ash’s shirt is tenting, and Tony realises that all this time Ash’s own erection had, until now, gone completely ignored. There’s a dark stain against the godawful lime green of his shirt that Tony instantly recognises as pre-come leaking through. He reaches under and fists Ash’s cock, relishing in the loud, high-pitched moan he receives in return. He jerks him off in time as he continues thrusting into Ash, and soon Ash is just an absolute fucking mess in his lap, writhing, groaning, breathless, and desperately kissing Tony with his entire being. 

When Ash comes, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his breath hitches and there’s another one of those soft noises from the back of his throat as his entire body tenses up, come coating the inside of his shirt and streaking across his own stomach before he falls against Tony, breathing heavily. Tony definitely feels it as his walls contract around his cock, pushing him closer to the edge. He holds the omega up with one arm wrapped around his middle, his other arm resting on the back of the sofa, as he fucks Ash through his orgasm, bringing himself closer to his own finish as Ash’s pliant yet oversensitive body rests on his, exhausted. Almost instantly, Ash’s scent begins to thin out. It doesn’t take long before Tony feels the hot burst of release. It takes him by surprise, the heat in his stomach exploding as he holds Ash down on his cock as it throbs, coating Ash’s insides with white. Ash groans at the feeling, but Tony isn’t sure if Ash is prepared for what comes next. 

Tony wraps his arms around Ash and kisses him on the nose, cheek, mouth, and flinches when Ash bites into Tony’s shoulder. The base of his cock swells until Ash is moaning into Tony’s neck. Tony slowly, but firmly, pushes in deeper until his knot slips past the tight rim and buries itself inside. His knot fills Ash up, stretching him to his very limit and trapping Tony’s come inside him. It leaves him moaning weakly and trembling in Tony’s arms. Ash is unbelievably tight around him, even more so now with his growing knot, and he bites the inside of his cheeks when Ash wriggles, trying to adjust to the size but to no avail. 

“It’s fine, it’ll be over soon,” he assures Ash. He rubs his back, fingers ghosting along his shoulder blades and trailing down his spine, “just wait it out.” 

Fifteen minutes in of being tied to each other, the fatigue takes over and soon Ash is snoring softly against Tony, head tucked in the curve where Tony’s neck meets his shoulder. He isn’t sure how someone can still be so strangely endearing with a dick stuck in their ass but Ash somehow manages. Tony wants to laugh at himself. If he told the Tony of yesteryear that in three hundred and sixty five days time he would be knotting Ash Davis in his apartment, complete with cuddling and tender thoughts, he would’ve decked his future self right there and then. But here he is, doing exactly that. 

His knot eventually comes down, and Tony pulls himself out, careful not to wake Ash up. He feels some of his own come leak out of Ash when he does so, so he uses his index finger to reach in and lazily scrape out as much excess as he can, feeling it drip out of Ash’s limp body as the blond shivers against him, mumbling quietly. He feels weird doing it while Ash is half-asleep, but he decides it’s better than leaving it all inside him. When he thinks he’s done, he gathers Ash up in his arms, which is easier said than done with Ash’s long limbs, and takes him into his bedroom, carefully depositing him onto his bed. He wipes Ash down with a body cloth soaked in warm water and changes him into a clean shirt before he hops into the shower himself. 

The hot water does wonders loosening up his muscles from an extremely long night. They must have trekked into the early hours of the morning now, he thinks as he rinses the suds off his body. He stands under the stream for a while afterwards, basking in the way the water seems to melt away all the tension he had been holding in his body, the steam enveloping him and cleansing his senses. It’s the first time in hours that he isn’t breathing in Ash’s captivating scent. It’s almost liberating. After drying off, he slips under his cool linen sheets next to Ash. His heart swells when the omega automatically rolls over to burrow into his warmth in his sleep despite Ash being the taller of the two, his long limbs wrapping around Tony. 

It’s still baffling to Tony that this is the same Ash he has known these past few years. The same snappy, ferocious swan that is quick to tell Tony to go fuck himself if he so much as breathed in Ash's direction in a way that Ash deemed antagonistic. But it’s not an unpleasant change. He tucks Ash’s head under his chin and nuzzles into his hair. He takes note of the way the pheromones have calmed down and is now only a pleasant aura hovering around the omega. He needs to make the most of this brief respite, because tomorrow he’s going to have to start over again, and the day after that, and after that. He needs to be ready to face more wild bouts of it for as long as Ash’s heat lasts.

But before he can even register exactly how tired he is, sleep takes a hold of him in her warm, inviting arms the moment his eyelids fall shut.

—

The girl at the pharmacy scans the box. She looks at him and fixes him with an expressionless stare as she smacks her gum that smells like artificial spearmint.

“They’re um, they’re not for me,” he stutters, sifting through his already thin wallet for cash, “they’re for my…my friend.”

“Oh, yeah?” she responds, voice as bland and emotionless as her dead eyes, framed by clumps of mascara. He knows she doesn’t give a shit but he felt the need to explain himself anyway. She hands him the brown paper bag with the morning-after pills inside and he quickly tears his way out to the parking lot as fast as possible.

—

When he wakes up, the first thing Ash notices is the solid body under him. It’s a surprisingly comfortable substitute mattress for the upper half of his body, but he’s sure whoever it belongs to doesn’t appreciate the heavy weight on top of them. Ash isn’t exactly the lightest person, after all. He digs his knuckles into his eyes. He vaguely remembers being taken from the building by Mark, but the moment they step out of the building, his memories reach a blockade. One of the others must have called over someone to deal with him—embarrassing, but appreciated. 

The second thing he notices is the smell. It’s a familiar scent; warm, spicy, and strong. Hallmark traits of an alpha. 

And he knows who this scent belongs to immediately. 

His eyes snap open.

No fucking way. Nope. No. _No_. He tries to push away so he can take a look to confirm his suspicions, but the arms around him tighten without relinquishing. He gives up his struggling for a while, allowing the other to settle before he tries again. After he changes his escape tactics to subtle wriggling, he manages to free himself from the vice-like grip and he moves to sit up on the edge of the bed, hissing when a pain shoots up his spine. He looks down. He’s wearing a shirt that most likely belongs to Tony, not to mention he’s currently in what he recognises as Tony’s bedroom. The pieces of the puzzle are fitting in together to form a picture that Ash would rather not see. 

He turns his head slowly, scared to look, and cringes when sees a head with an unmistakeable buzzcut with his face pressed into his down pillows.

Ash tries to count the number of days he’d lost in his heat but his mind is fuzzy and the whole event has melded into one amorphous blob of limbs and sweat. He can only remember the last few days in snapshots, like he’d been on a four, maybe five, day non-stop bender. Him being rescued, then him on Tony’s lap, his head in between Tony’s legs, Tony’s head in between _his_ legs, him lying flat on his back, on all fours, on his side—even against the shower wall. Ash could feel the blood rushing to his face and he knows, without a doubt, that his face is sporting a lovely, warm shade of rose.

The surge of memories is mortifying, and he holds his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his thumbs as if the action will erase everything that happened in the past few days. Anxiety bubbles inside him and he tries to calm himself down by taking a few deep breaths. Count to ten. He needs to figure out a way to discuss the situation with Tony in a way that is civil, like normal grown-ups.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters into his hands.

He carefully stands up and makes his way into the bathroom as quietly as he can. He stays in the shower for a long time, giving himself time to organise his thoughts and re-orientate himself with the world again, while also practicing what he would say when Tony wakes up. 

“Hey buddy!” he says to the shower head. 

“Hey there, pal." The shampoo bottle stares back. 

“How’s it going?” he cringes at himself and groans.

“Hey, thanks for fucking me senseless for the past few days I hope we can still be friends while sort of pretending this never happened.” The finger guns he throws are not returned by the rising steam in the shower. 

Opening his mouth, he tilts his head back and fills it with water before spitting it all out. He feels gross. Probably hadn’t even had a proper shower during his heat, or even brushed his teeth, unless Tony was kind enough to do it for him. The shower knob squeaks when he feels like he’s used up enough of Tony’s hot water and made up for lost shower time, then he gathers up the courage to chuck the t-shirt back on and exit in a cloud of steam. He walks around the apartment for a bit, telling himself that he totally isn’t stalling the inevitable. He spots his phone sitting on the coffee table, but the battery is dead—probably has been for days now.

He finds himself standing in front of the door to the bedroom. His hand is on the cool brass handle, and takes a deep breath. He pushes the door open. Tony is still sleeping, and Ash has…mixed feelings. On one hand, he doesn’t know how to react when Tony wakes up and needs time to figure it out, but on the other, he wants to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. He sits next to Tony’s sleeping figure on the bed, crossing his legs under him and he plugs his phone into Tony’s charger. He types a rushed message to his sister.

_< holy shi t dude,_

He waits for the reply, anxiety settling into an uncomfortable weight in his chest. He considers making a run for it when his phone buzzes in his hand. 

_> oh fuck, welcome back to the world of the lucid. how are you feeling. look i’m rly sory it had to be him. was urgent ._

_< its _

_< its fine. _

_< thanks tho_

_< what do i do?? hes still sleeping. _

_> wait for him to wake up. _

_> duh._

He’s in the middle of writing his reply when a low voice startles him. 

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“Shit—” he exclaims, jumping. He drops his phone and fumbles before he snatches it back, “Uh yeah, I’m awake, sorry, I—you uh, you scared me,” he says, clutching his phone. Smooth Ash, real smooth, he thinks to himself.

Tony pushes himself up on his elbow and rests his head against his hand, turning to look at Ash. Being under scrutiny causes the heat to flare up in his cheeks again and he turns away, trying to hide the blush rapidly spreading across his face like wildfire. His mind is suddenly flooded with images of Tony, hovering above him. 

“How, uh—how’re you doing?” Tony asks. Ash isn’t exactly sure how to answer. It isn’t the same as being asked during or after a fight. It isn’t ‘how are you doing after being shot and stabbed?’ it’s ‘how are you doing after being rammed for four days straight?’; vastly different.

“I’m fine,” he shoots back, face still turned away. He’s fully aware of how hostile he sounds, but he can’t help the way the words fly out of his mouth, eager to leave. Tony is uncharacteristically quiet on his end, and Ash glances at him. He’s looking down at his hands and idly picking at the skin around his fingers. Ash isn’t used to having Tony go quiet on him, it’s just not right. Ash’s hands drift to the spot under his own ears, fingers trailing around the sensitive skin. The action doesn’t unnoticed. 

“We didn’t, um…” Tony starts to reassure him, and Ash looks away, dropping his hand “look, I know—” a sigh, “if you want to pretend this whole thing never happened—if you wanna just…go back to normal, then I’m cool with it, aight?” Ash feels something tighten inside him.

“Yeah,” he blurts out without thinking, “No, wait, I don’t—it’s…” he regrets it instantly when he struggles to find the right words to follow up—he doesn't even know what he wants to say, yet here he is babbling nonsense like an idiot. He runs his hand down his face, before dropping it back into his lap. He turns to look at Tony, whose orange eyes burn holes into his own, “thanks, Tony. I know Alex probably threatened to chop your dick off if you didn’t—” 

He hears a chuckle. It’s the last thing he expected, but the sound of it brings with it a feeling of relief as it works to disperse the tense atmosphere around them. Tony pushes himself up with a grunt, raising a knee to rest an arm on. Ash’s breath catches in his larynx when he’s made aware of the degree of Tony’s state of undress when the blanket falls away from his torso. He reaches over to grab a pack of smokes from the bedside table.

“Eh, it’s no problem,” he says while balancing the cigarette between his lips as he lights it, “always here to help.” 

A pregnant silence sits between them. 

“Um,” Ash licks his dry lips, “did you—did you manage to kill them all, at 104th?”

It’s a weird question to throw into the conversation, unpleasant, especially when the air is still thick with discomfiture—but Ash has to know. Tony presses his lips in a thin line and shakes his head slowly, and Ash’s heart drops.

“Sorry man, some of them managed to escape while we were all pretty busy.” Tony rolls the cigarette between his fingers.

“Did you…did you see any of them?” Ash deflates when Tony shakes his head again, looking sheepish.

“All of them had these...masks on—not like ours, more like gas masks,” Tony explains.

“Right,” Ash sighs in defeat, before he throws his phone further along the bed, and scrunches his eyes, pressing his forehead against a closed fist, “fuck.” 

“We're sorry, Ash—”

It’s Ash’s turn to shakes his head.

“Fucking hell,” he says, lifting his head.

He turns to face Tony and watches the smoke curl into the air from the cigarette that burns the same colour as Tony’s amber eyes, held in the hand capable of both crushing someone’s skull and holding him so gently. He also knows what those lips are capable of; soft kisses and even softer words that echo in his memories, and while the sickening feeling of disappointment and shame inside him pulls at his innards, he can't bring himself to take it out on Tony.

“I’m—I’m gonna go home,” he finally says, dropping his legs over the side of the bed and picking up his abandoned clothes. There’s nothing but silence in response as he haphazardly throws his clothes on and heads straight for the door. Ash tells himself not to turn around to see whatever expression must be on Tony’s face. 

“Alright,” he hears Tony finally say as he leaves the room and the door clicks shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is fellas, the porn. it has arrived! haven't really written smut properly before, at least not to this extent, so apologies if it seems awkward in some parts. sorry for the delay! hospital night shifts keeping me crazy busy and so fucking tired. and sorry it's another short chapter!! but i hope y'all enjoyed~


	7. Chapter 7

Alex swivels around on her chair to look at Ash.

“So…that was it?” 

“Yep,” Ash responds, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

Placing her kale smoothie on the table and resting her chin on her hand, she watches Ash fix himself a grilled cheese sandwich using the soon-to-be-expired ingredients in their pantry. She thought Ash would be more or less elated at the turn of events, considering what had actually happened. Perhaps he was just exhausted.

“So…you must feel…I mean, you got through the heat perfectly fine,” she counts on her fingers, “you got laid, no strings attached, and only a _little_ bit of awkwardness…all things considered I think things could have ended up a whole lot worse, even if it _was_ Tony, your number one favourite person on earth.” 

She says the last part with a comical lilt in her voice and waits for Ash’s reaction. It doesn’t come. She looks up from her phone. His back is turned to her but she just knows something isn’t right. He didn’t tell her to piss off or shut up, the only sound she can hear is the sizzling of the pan and the whir of the fan above the stove. She watches the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he chucks his food on a plate. He’s sighing.

“I’m sorry it was him, he—it was just as surprising to all of us and…” Alex swallows, and places her clasped hands on the counter, “we’re really sorry. There was a lot of them and we couldn’t get the upper-hand from the ambush like we were hoping and—” she looks at him, unshed tears welling up, “I’m sorry, for letting that happen to you, I should’ve been right there with you and that morning I had—it’s my fault, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologise for that,” he says, “none of it was your fault, alright? It’s not your job to babysit me. And I’m here, aren’t I? I’m fine.”

She sniffs and wants to slap herself across the face. _Pull it together, man_ , she berates herself internally. She doesn’t cry, and he shouldn’t be comforting her right now, it should be the other way round.

“But now you owe me more than just suppressants,” he says, “how about you shout me dinner for a week?” 

She smiles, wiping at her eyes with the palm of her hand, “Fuck you.”

—

“You ready to get back into it?” Alex asks from the couch as she watches him get ready for work, rolling up his sleeves, fixing his hair, searching for his wallet.

“I s’pose so,” Ash replies. 

He grabs the keys off the table and his jacket hanging off the back of the couch. It’s been a long forty-eight hours since his heat finished, and he’s itching to get back into routine. Missing those few days was always a jarring and disorientating experience for omegas, and for once Ash is—for lack of better words—actually looking forward to work. In the three days since he’d left Tony’s apartment, he hadn’t really been in contact with with him, other than the general messages with the group back and forth organising their next expedition. He wanted— _needed_ —to talk to him, and he had a couple of days to do so, but every time he worked up the courage to message him, he drew a blank on what to say.

It was frustrating, to say the least. 

—

When he finally arrives to Hank’s Bar, he’s greeted by Dean’s cheerful voice calling out for him from behind the bar and the familiar scent of bourbon and sad, old people. The dim lighting only enhances the depressing energy emanating from the majority of their patrons.

It’s good to be back.

“We missed you, dude!” Dean says when Ash joins him on the other side of the counter, “Your sister called in saying you were gonna be out of commission for a bit. You’re lucky boss man can’t find anyone else willing to work in this shithole.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you man. I wasn’t uh…wasn’t feeling well,” he says. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Dean stares at him for a moment, as if inspecting Ash’s face, before he suddenly leans forward and presses his nose against the side of Ash’s neck and inhales.

“Dude!” Ash yelps as he jumps back at the sudden contact.

“You weren’t feeling well?” Dean questions, and the knowing grin that follows makes Ash’s face go hot. He slaps a hand over the spot on his neck that Dean was pressed against a second before, as if it was going to stop Dean from being able to smell the lingering post-heat scent of alpha on him.

“H-how’d you kn—actually, you know what, fuck off, Dean, don’t you have some—some martinis to decorate?” Ash splutters, shooing Dean away. Dean laughs as he walks off, leaving Ash to address the tray of glasses that need cleaning. 

Ash’s night is as dynamic as a night of collecting tumblers and wiping up spills can be, but despite the monotony, it’s also an opportunity for Ash to let his body go into auto-pilot mode so he can mull over his options for dealing with his current predicament. 

Along with the stress of trying to find out who was at 104th, he’s also plagued with the stress of trying to figure out the most appropriate way of confronting Tony about what happened. They never had a proper discussion, with Ash far too frazzled to talk it over when they had the chance. 

On the way home that morning, Ash had been invaded by a feeling that was all too foreign. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Tony had taken care of him through an entire heat, that Tony had kissed him so gently, that _Tony_ fucked him seven ways to Sunday. Ash had pressed his nose into the shirt he was wearing, inhaling the alpha’s rich scent and allowing it to flow through his airways and spread through his body, warm, all the way to his extremities. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was just a new side-effect of coming out of a heat spent with an alpha and it was just residual hormones acting up, but it sure as hell was a first, and that concerned him.

After a few hours of careful and thorough deliberation, he narrows it down to two possible courses of action. He could: a) continue whatever it is they’re doing now until these heat-induced feelings dissipate, and if they didn’t, he could b) stop being a little bitch, go up to Tony, lay all his cards on the table and whatever happens after that would be up to Tony. 

Neither of them, overall, sounded very appealing to Ash. 

—

The sun rises and sets, and the warmth makes way for the flurry of leaves that shower onto the pavement. Ash’s life remains the same. He mops floors, polishes glassware, and has brunch with Devyn. At one point Hank’s bar gets a new jukebox machine, and it takes all but two weeks for some drunk fuck to put Tom Jones’s _What’s Up Pussycat_ on repeat for an hour until another drunk fuck shoves the heavy machine to the side and rips the power plug from the wall. 

_What’s Up Pussycat_ was subsequently removed from the song selection on the jukebox. 

—

He can’t find any information on the house at 104th, other than the fact that the group in charge is still at large and as evasive as ever, but he never stops looking. 

—

He ends up finding solace in Dean’s arms, under the condition that it’s nothing serious. It works out well for both of them, being an outlet for Ash’s frustrations and a welcome distraction, while allowing Dean to indulge. Most of the time they end up fucking at Dean’s place after their shifts but sometimes it couldn’t wait. 

“Do you do this on purpose?” Dean says quietly into Ash’s ear, sliding his hands over Ash’s hips as he squeezes past Dean with a tray full of dirty cups, brushing against the front of his pants. The bar is packed tonight, so personal space is a luxury, but Dean finds that flirting with Ash makes work a little more tolerable anyway.

“Depends,” Ash responds, looking over his shoulder, breathing in Dean’s comforting scent of fresh limes and fresh linen, “is it working?”

“My break’s in ten minutes,” Dean says as Ash leaves and he returns to his post behind the bar.

—

“The janitor’s closet?” Ash laughs incredulously, holding up his phone with Dean’s message on screen as he shuts the door behind him, enveloping them in darkness, “How cliche are you trynna be, man? You know we don’t technically have a ‘janitor’.” He says, framing his head with quotation marks. 

“I’m just setting the mood, baby,” Dean replies, and dips down to capture Ash’s mouth with his own. 

—

“Ah!”

Lauren is on her way to the restroom when she hears a cry followed by muffled cursing. She halts in her tracks. Where were these noises coming from? She looks around, unable to pinpoint where the voice is coming from when suddenly a bang makes her jolt. She turns around to face the broom closet, the door suddenly more imposing and scarier than it should be. She furrows her brows in confusion. She jumps again when she hears the clattering of brooms and buckets falling off the shelves, and a familiar voice yelling “Jesus Christ!” 

The racket coming from inside doesn’t sound good, so she quickly makes her way over to help him, in case he’s been seriously injured. Some of the stuff in that closet are serious health hazards, heavy equipment, caustic chemicals, the list goes on.

“Ash?” she calls out as she throws the door open. 

She freezes. 

There’s dead silence.

Lauren’s jaw drops open.

“I heard…I thought…Ash…was having…problems in here…” 

Dean’s back is to her, but his pants are loose, falling down around his thighs. She sees Dean’s fingers flex underneath Ash’s thighs, who is pressed against one of the shelves, pants hanging off one foot, surrounded by fallen buckets and bottles of cleaning solutions. They remain frozen, and have yet to say anything or move from their current compromising and very damning positions. Ash adjusts his hands that are holding tight around Dean’s neck. Both faces are ducked low, too embarrassed to move. 

“Well,” she breathes out, “I…am going to go now…”

“Yup,” Dean replies, assertive, “you go do that.” 

When she shuts the door, she hears an “ow!” and then a “you didn’t lock the fucking door behind you, Ash? You dumbass.” 

She scurries off into the bathroom, red from her neck to the tip of her ears. When she bumps into Devyn, she asks Lauren why she looks like she’d been running a marathon, but Lauren just shakes her head, warns her to stay away from the broom closet, and vows to never, ever, _ever_ investigate strange noises at work ever again. 

—

The others try to help Ash find out all that he can about who was at 104th by asking around. Alex asks her co-workers and clients at the gym but none of them have any clue what she’s talking about, or if they do, have nothing to tell her but things she already knows. Mark’s job at a video game store doesn’t really provide him with many opportunities to find out anything useful because the customers are never around for long enough for Mark to squeeze something out of them. A few of them do tend to hang around and gossip with him about the latest rumours floating around, but unfortunately, none of them actually have important information to divulge. Most of them are thirteen year olds and more interested in talking about the latest online gaming fad. Corey tries her best, but working part-time between the flower shop and the home gifts store doesn’t exactly provide her with the correct demographic for the investigation.

“Nah, sorry dude,” Tommy says, scratching the side of his face. He’s leaning against the bar to talk to Ash, and he’s dressed surprisingly nice for once, having just gotten off work late, “from what I’ve heard they seem to move around a lot, you’re probably gonna have a hard time trying to catch them. Even the po-po are having trouble.”

At Ash’s crestfallen expression, he pats Ash on the shoulder, “Why are you so invested in finding them anyway?” Ash makes a non-committal noise and pretends to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on the wood just as his manager enters the room. Tommy continues, “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know, alright?”

He offers him a thanks, before Tommy departs with one last smack on the shoulder blade, almost sending him over the counter. For such a seemingly big group, if not in number but by reputation, they were surprisingly elusive.

—

Eric comes into his work as well, but Ash finds great difficulty in trying to sift through his words to find what he needs. It’s like panning for gold and only finding dirt. Every time they speak, he leaves the conversation feeling more frustrated than before. The man is evasive when it comes to answering Ash’s questions, and somewhere inside Ash’s head, alarm bells ring. There’s a chance he really could know nothing, but there’s also a possibility that he is withholding important information. 

Eric orders another pint of Guinness, and doesn’t speak to Ash for the remainder of the night. 

—

Tony turns up to Hank’s Bar a few times during Ash’s shifts. Sometimes he comes with the others, sometimes Corey, sometimes Alex, but it’s usually Mark that joins him as he dives into a night of regret and memory loss. It usually ends in one of them passing out on the table and the others laughing and taking unflattering photos, before bidding Ash a good night and dragging them back home. Tonight, however, he drinks alone. 

He orders the same thing he orders every time (copious amounts of rum and coke) and sips on them sullenly while keeping a keen eye on Ash as he zips around doing his job. It doesn’t escape him that a few other alphas in the room are also tracking Ash as he flits around the bar, retrieving glasses and refilling drinks, too busy and stressed to notice the hungry eyes following his every move. Some of them even throw in a couple of cheeky remarks here and there, and Ash responds like a good waiter is expected to: with witty banter and sometimes a bit of harmless flirting. It takes a significant amount of self-control to resist the urge to start a bar fight just because he’s feeling a little jealous. He wants know if Ash has always had this magnetism that attracts so many alphas or if he’s just imagining things now that he’s acquired this new partiality.

(It wasn’t exactly a bar fight, but he does end up starting a fight on another night that he comes alone. One such alpha, a burly looking fellow with a pale scar stitched across his eyebrow, had been leaning against the bar counter, waiting for his drink with a friend, when he made the bold move of grabbing at Ash’s butt as he walked past. Ash had turned around and growled, told him to fuck off, and the guy had just laughed while his friend told Ash to “ease up, princess”. Ash had only retaliated with a small threat of castration, and in an incredible display of restraint, turned around without another word instead of bottling him with the empty Grey Goose in his fist. Staring, Tony could tolerate. Sure, he’d prefer it if he didn’t see three or four alphas’ eyes lock onto Ash’s neck whenever the omega threw his head back to laugh, but it didn’t warrant direct action. Flirting, that was toeing the line. 

Groping, however, was unacceptable. 

He waited for the two men to leave, like a jaguar poised and ever so patient. When he slides out of the booth, leaving a tip under his empty glass, a hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Don’t.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, “Don’t what?” Tony had groaned.

Ash pulled at Tony’s shoulder, forcing him to face him, “Dude, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Never said I was doing it for you. Don’t flatter yourself,” Tony grumbled before he shrugged his hand off and turned back around to exit the building, “maybe I just wanna release some of this pent-up energy.” 

The omega’s fingers caught on his sleeve right before he reached the door, and when he turned around again, he wasn’t prepared for the pleading look in Ash’s captivating greens that froze him on the spot.

“Tony,” he simply said, stepping closer, probably so he wouldn’t have to speak loud enough for other people to hear him order Tony not to beat up random strangers. He glances around briefly, “it wasn’t a big deal.” 

He wondered if Ash knew just how much he could shake Tony’s resolve by saying his name like that alone, with those darling eyes of his that could enthral the stoniest of alphas. If there was anybody that could resist falling in love with them, well, that wasn’t him. 

He swallowed and watched the way Ash’s eyes followed the movement of his Adam’s apple, the way his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. He wanted to kiss him then, wanted it so bad that it hurt to look at him, wanted to drag him down and feel Ash melt against him. Ash was so close, it would be easy. Then everyone would know that Ash is his.

But over Ash’s shoulder, Tony could see Dean at the bar, chatting away animatedly to one of the customers as he poured their drink. He could smell the beta’s scent on Ash’s clothes, wrapped around him like briar. So he reached over to grab hold of Ash’s hand on his sleeve, pulling it off.

Then it was his turn to say, “Don’t.” 

Ash didn’t try to stop him after that.

Tony did catch up to the alphas, and his night ended with hands that throbbed with the stinging pain of skinned knuckles, and him unceremoniously dumping their battered bodies in a nearby alleyway.)

He’s perfectly aware that he could very well come off as creepy and sad and a little desperate coming in here so often these past few weeks just to stare at Ash over the rim of his glass. He tells himself and everyone else that it’s because he has nothing better to do but he knows that’s not true, and maybe they do too. Ash is talking to Dean and Devyn behind the counter and he feels a pang of bitterness when Ash laughs at one of Dean’s shitty jokes, clapping his hands together like a seal, and then reaching out to clutch at his arm as he doubles over, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye while Devyn shakes her head at the two and slaps a hand over her eyes. He feels himself stiffen with envy when Dean’s hands reach up to hold Ash’s elbows to support him in case he collapses on the floor in hysterics, chuckling as well as he looks down at the blond, taken in by the currents of Ash’s laughter. It’s a feeling not unknown to Tony. When Ash laughs, it takes a person of stone to not succumb to its contagious nature. 

And he knows he’s not in the place to be jealous. Yeah, Tony fucking hates Dean—hates that he’s never made Ash laugh like that before, hates that Dean is taller and more charming than Tony could possibly be. Hates that his own personality leaves a lot of be desired, whereas Dean is perfect and agreeable and comical and kind.

God, he’s pining. 

He’s fucking pining and he’s not even going to try and stop himself. Ash is never going to see him as anything more than a friend—if he could even be granted that, and now he’s sitting alone in an empty booth of a dingy old bar, watching Ash find comfort in someone else. He can’t stop himself from feeling a stab of jealousy every time he catches the beta’s scent on Ash whenever Ash gets close enough. 

This is pathetic, he thinks to himself. He takes another swig of the familiar dark brown liquor and looks over to his left. He inadvertently makes eye-contact with hazels lined with smokey browns and black. They belong to a girl sitting with her friends in the booth across the room staring at him. She isn’t bad-looking—a rarity in this joint—hair a platinum blonde, pulled back into a slick ponytail that falls over a thin shoulder. There’s a black choker around her neck that matches the tight black dress wrapped around her body, the dark velvet stark against her pale skin. She smiles briefly before she turns to her friends, no doubt pointing him out to the rest of them. The other girls attempt to subtly take a look. Yeah, not obvious at all.

He downs his drink and waves Ash over. 

“Yeah?” Ash says all too casually, completely unaware of Tony’s inner turmoil, and there it is, the smell of beta staining him, the poorly-hidden love bites peeking out from underneath the collar of his shirt. He wants to lick at them and replace each and every one with a bite of his own.

Tony swallows what he’s got in his mouth, letting out an exceptionally classy burp, and then he makes his order.

“What?” Tony says in response to the surprise that flickers over Ash’s features when, along with his rum and coke he also asks for “something sweet” for the girl.

“Nothing,” Ash replies with a shrug, expression returning to a convincing neutral.

“It’s been a while, alright? I haven’t been laid since—” 

_Since he helped Ash through his heat._

“Is that all?” Ash asks, cutting him off. When Tony nods, Ash confirms his order, “Won’t be moment.”

—

When Ash hands the girl her bright concoction, a pretty gradient of red to yellow, he plasters on his best customer-friendly smile and tells her it’s from the gentleman sitting over there. She has the audacity to look shocked when her group of friends all ooh and ahh and congratulate her on her pull, as if she hasn’t been shamelessly eye-fucking Tony the entire night. She thanks him before she goes back to giggling with her gaggle of friends, but Ash doesn’t wait around to listen to what they have to say. He better receive a massive tip tonight from both tables, it’s the least they could do. 

His eyes don’t leave Tony, even as he’s drying the glasses and putting them away. The smirk that Tony sends over to the girl has Ash’s own heart clenching in his chest, and he almost drops the glass when Dean appears on his right. 

“So,” Dean says, “him?” 

Ash has half a mind to ask what the fuck he’s talking about, but the look on Dean’s face tells him that there’s no use pretending. Sleeping with Dean had been a good distraction, but it did nothing to smother the yearning for an alpha. Initially he’d chalked the attachment up to being remnants of hormones from his heat, having been taken through a heat by an alpha for the first time. The excuse becomes withered and overused once it hits day 90 and the ache that sits between his ribs remains as persistent as ever, sits there like a parasite in his lungs.

(If anybody asks about the t-shirt that lies bunched up beneath his pillow, with the faded scent of Tony lingering between its threads, Ash will deny possessing any knowledge regarding it.)

So no, he’s not going to be able to stop himself from sulking tonight as he indirectly helps Tony get with some fucking big-tittied bimbo, so he might as well be honest.

“That obvious?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifts in a self-pitying smile, and Dean squeezes his shoulder in understanding and condolence. 

“Yeah,” he says, clicking his tongue and sucking air in, “just a little.”

“Wait, what? I thought you two were fucking,” Devyn says bluntly, suddenly appearing on his left and pointing at the two of them.

Dean rests his hand over his heart, and theatrically sighs, “That may be so, however, I am naught but a convenient comfort for our dear lovestruck Ash,” he says, and Devyn coos and pinches Ash’s cheek as the blond tries to swat away her hands.

—

Tony doesn’t kiss her when they fuck, doesn’t bother to savour every inch of her body. 

It takes him longer than usual to get hard, and he doesn’t get close to coming until he imagines her eyes a lot greener and chest a lot flatter and hair a lot shorter and closer to the colour of buttercups.

Then he’s coming in five seconds flat. 

He doesn’t wait for the morning before he asks her to leave. 

 

—

Tony hasn’t come to Hank’s Bar since the night Ash delivered the tequila sunrise and played a part in the breaking of his own heart (a bit melodramatic, yes, but he felt like absolute shit for the next few days, and Alex had worded it that way and it described his situation perfectly). The others still come to visit on occasion, Corey usually as the sober driver while Mark and Alex order glass after glass—all of them except Tony. When he asks, as nonchalantly as he can manage, if they’ve seen Tony at all recently, they mention that he claims to be “busy” these past couple of weeks, with quotation marks and all, whatever that could mean. He tries not to think about him too much, tries not to mope. There were other bars and pubs in town, maybe Tony was just tired of spending all his nights in the same one. 

“Ash,” a voice close to his ear snaps him out of his thoughts. It belongs to Devyn, “that um, that guy’s asking for you,” she says, lowering her voice. He follows her gaze over to one of the tables, and his stomach fucking drops. He was half-expecting (hoping) it would be Tony. 

It’s not.

“You don’t have to go though,” she continues, noticing Ash’s hesitation, “I can take his orders instead, if you want. If he tries anything I’ll get his ass kicked out of here faster than he can say ‘I’m a huge, gigantic wad of shit’.” 

He knows the man’s face. And it’s not like Ash is intimidated, but if there’s one thing that could get him fired, it’s fighting with a customer at work.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod, “yeah that’d be great, Dev, thanks.” 

The next few hours go by pretty smoothly. He makes sure to maintain a safe distance from ‘The Table’—as he’s dubbed it in his head. Usually the scent of an alpha, no matter who it belonged to, was somewhat pleasant to him on a purely biological basis, but many of the alphas at the bar carried an awful stench; alphas that are long past their prime and have now turned to wallowing in bourbon to drown the self-hate and regret. Spending hours in their vicinity makes one wonder if the misery in the air would eventually diffuse into your blood, replacing the oxygen, making you see life as one big tragedy. 

When it’s time for his break, he steps out the back door into the dark alleyway to replace the musty air in his lungs with fresh night air and cool off. The place is empty, save for the usual dumpsters and black bags of rubbish thrown haphazardly all over the place. He can hear the scratching of rats skittering between them, chewing through the thin plastic, stealing whatever rotten morsel they can find. He’s leaning against the brick wall replying to messages on his phone when a familiar voice interrupts him. 

“Hey there blondie, long time no see.” 

Ash sighs. He recognises that nickname.

“Wanna ignore me, huh?” the man gets closer, but Ash doesn’t move an inch, “Is that how we’re gonna do this? Your friends aren’t around to help you here, you know,” he finishes the sentence with a flash of teeth. Ash turns to face him, shoving the phone into his pocket. He’s the man from months ago that Dean had to kick out, the man that had specifically asked for him inside. 

Ash doesn’t bother with formality, “What the fuck is your problem with me?” 

The man shrugs as he continues walking towards Ash. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, and the use of the endearment makes Ash’s skin crawl, “just thought we got off on the wrong foot, and I wanna start again.”

Ash wants to hurl. The smell of desperation and rum seeps out of him, an alpha that has faced many a rejection, and it clings to him like a second skin.

“No thanks,” he replies curtly. 

“Oh?” the man chuckles, “You don’t want to continue from where we left off last time?”

“You mean when you threw a temper tantrum and got kicked out of the bar?” Ash shoots back. 

He watches as a grin cuts across his face like a dehiscing wound. Ash has a bad feeling about this.

“Oh! Right!” the man says, making a show of slapping his forehead like he’d just forgotten something important, “You wouldn’t remember,” he says. He laughs to himself, and he leans in close enough so that Ash can smell the fetid odour wafting off of him, “you know, you smell just as sweet as I remember, pretty little thing.” 

Being so close to him, Ash catches his scent—his alpha scent—under the thick layers of liquor. Back when he had been blind-folded in that basement, the voice that mumbled into his neck as cold hands roamed along the planes of his body seemed all too familiar. And now he finally knows why.

Without warning, Ash’s fist flies out towards the man’s face. There’s a crack of his nose and a sharp twist of the man’s head, but the man recovers and with a deep growl he takes a swing at Ash. Ash takes a step back and feels the man’s knuckles graze his eyelashes as he misses Ash by a hair’s breadth, and Ash takes the opportunity to drive a boot right into the man’s groin. The alpha curses as his hands immediately fly to his injury, before Ash punches him square in the face again, sending him stumbling into the pile of rubbish bags behind him. 

Ash charges at him, wishing he had a weapon right now so he could bludgeon this man’s head and send fragments of his skull flying in all different directions, but the man manages to push himself up in time, and launches himself off the ground to tackle Ash instead. The wind gets knocked out of him when he lands flat on his back, but he manages to wrench his arm high enough so that his elbow connects with the man’s cheek. The man growls in pain, blood splattering from his mouth, and before Ash can get another hit in, one of his large hands wraps around Ash’s throat. On instinct his hands fly up to claw at the man’s arm, but he’s got one arm pinned and his body weight on Ash’s legs. He’s pushing down hard enough on his trachea that Ash starts to think that maybe this is the way he’s gonna go, in an alleyway, killed by some lowlife, nobody alpha. He strains against the man’s hold as some of his blood splashes onto Ash’s face in thick, warm droplets. Ash wants to gag when some of it lands in his mouth, the sickly, coppery taste spreading over his tongue. The man pushes Ash’s head to the side, no doubt examining the side of his neck.

“Oh, this is nice,” he hears him sneer, “still on the market.”

The angle at which he’s pushed Ash’s head allows him to spot an empty bottle of vodka reflecting the streetlights a few centimetres away from him. The more he struggles, the more he can feel himself losing oxygen quickly, so he focuses all his energy into reaching over to the discarded bottle, hoping that the man is too distracted to notice. He can hear the throbbing pulse of his blood in his ears, can feel the cartilage rings of his windpipe begin to collapse, and suddenly the rough skin of the man’s lips on his neck.

“Fuck off,” Ash manages to choke out as the man presses his lips against his neck over his bonding site. The man presses harder instead, a thick, slimy tongue dragging itself over his sensitive skin. Ash walks his fingers over to the bottle, closer, and closer still, and he can feel the muscles in his arms starting to cramp, feel the way the man tenses and hums as he mistakes Ash reaching for the bottle for Ash arching against him, and he’s so close to the bottle, just a little more, and he feels the graze of teeth against the bonding site, a little more, a little—

The back door of the bar swings open, startling them both. The alpha instantly shoots up from his position on top of Ash, and the omega takes advantage of the opening. He reaches over, closes his fingers around the bottle neck, and swings it as hard as he can. The bottle connects with his temple, glass colliding with thin skin and bone, sending the alpha to the ground, and Ash drops the bottle onto the ground before he scrambles up. He grabs the collar of the guys shirt and he punches him in the face, once, twice, and he’s about to deck him again when he feels steady hands at his shoulders, wrenching him back. 

“Ash, what the fuck!” he hears, and his ears are ringing, adrenaline pumping through every blood vessel in his body as he watches the pathetic excuse for an alpha cower slightly when Ash drops him. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he spits, as he gets dragged away. 

“Ash!” the voice yells, and the hands move from his shoulders to his arms to stop him from struggling as he tries to leap back onto the man to beat him into the ground. 

“No!” he yells as he tries to wriggle out of the hands holding him back, his arm shoots out in an attempt to grab the alpha as the motherfucker stands and makes a break for it, “Fucking let go of me! He can’t get away, he can’t—” 

He breaks free, and he moves to run after him but a hand wraps itself around his wrist, jerking him back. Dean’s hands are holding onto the back of his shirt, his arms, grabbing at him to prevent him from pursuing the man. The second time he slips out, it’s only just in time to watch the man disappear around the corner at the end of the alleyway.

“Ash—”

He whips around and he sees Dean, kind-hearted Dean, with concern etched all over his face, and with all his strength, he fists the collar of his shirt and shoves him against the wall, feeling the impact against his knuckles through Dean’s clavicles as his body collides with the wall behind him, leaving bloodied prints on his light blue shirt.

“Fuck you!” he yells, pushing again when Dean tries to move forward, “Fuck you!” 

“Ash, calm down—” the beta tries, lifting his hands up but Ash is having none of it, pushing Dean’s hands away and Dean’s soften when they meet Ash’s, filled with despair. When Ash’s fist collides with his cheek. Dean stumbles back a little, hand pressed against the side of his face.

“I had him,” Ash growls through gritted teeth, “I had him, Dean, and you let him get away.” 

“Ash,” Dean says, when he regains his balance, keeping voice lowered. He approaches Ash carefully, and he puts his hands on Ash’s shoulders, eventually moving to wrap his arms around him to pull him into a placating embrace, “I don’t know what he did, but you can’t just kill someone at work. Shit man, you’re lucky it’s me that found you, and not one of the girls.” 

The omega struggles in Dean’s hold as the beta tries to calm him in a way one would a fractious animal. He pulls back and lets his hands travel up to Ash’s neck to cradle his jaw, feeling every twitch in his muscle as he resists Dean in every way, using his now free hands to push weakly at Dean’s chest. Dean perseveres, shushing Ash and holding onto him tight. Eventually, with the beta’s constant flow of words of assurance, the omega eventually settles down, hands gripping Dean’s wrists on either side of his face, huffing through his nose. Dean looks down at Ash, and he’s got blood smeared all over his face, some of it having transferred onto Dean’s shirt and hands. 

—

Dean’s disgusted at himself because even with the tangy, metallic scent of blood piercing his olfactory senses, even after seeing Ash lose himself in a state of madness, all he takes in are those long, wet lashes.

Dean has never wanted to fuck anyone against a wall so badly in his entire life. 

But he knows that Ash has long been taken by someone else, even if the skin beneath his hand is totally, temptingly unmarked. So instead, he takes Ash into the building with a platonic arm around his shoulder, and nothing more. Maybe soon, maybe later, but not now.

—

He brings Ash back into the bar and cleans him up, taking extra care to wipe his neck where the scent of the alpha is particularly strong. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when he confirms that there hasn’t been a bite and the skin is still intact. However, there is a developing bruise threatening to curl around the omega’s pale throat, so Dean doesn’t press hard around that area. The omega stands there, leaning quietly against the counter, and lets Dean drag a wet cloth over his face to clean off the blood. When he’s done he rinses it off until the water runs clear.

“I’m sorry,” Ash apologises, and the sound of his hoarse voice surprises Dean. It had been immensely quiet until now, “about the…” he circles an area around his own cheek, referring to where Dean himself is developing a lovely bruise under his eye.

“It’s quite alright, Ash,” Dean says, drying his hands “I mean, not really, considering you very nearly killed a man—while still on the clock, mind you—but…” he sighs, leaning both hands against the bathroom counter next to Ash, turning to look at the injured omega beside him, “do you wanna tell me what that was all about? What happened there, Ash? I’ve never seen anyone, let alone _you_ , lose their fucking shit like that. Ever. Who was that?” 

Ash bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. He looks so downtrodden and hesitant that Dean sighs in defeat. If he didn’t want to talk about it, then Dean isn’t going to force it out of him.

“Look, don’t worry about it,” Dean says, a hand resting between his shoulders as he walks him out, “just go home, I’ll deal with the boss, I’m sure he’ll understand,” he says with a kind smile that Ash can’t help but reciprocate.

The girls gasp when they see Ash, skin bruised and his shirt stained with red. Lauren immediately rushes over to check the mark encircling his neck, fretting over him like a frantic mother hen, meanwhile Devyn tries to force Ash to spill the details so that she herself could “deal with the vermin who did this”. After multiple reassurances that he is absolutely, totally fine, the girls finally—but hesitantly—release him back to Dean. 

“You alright to drive?” Dean asks as they reach the carpark.

“I’ll manage,” Ash replies, and Dean says his goodbye of the night.

—

The bitter cold of the night air sinks its teeth into his skin as he watches Dean walk away. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and all Ash can think about is getting home and flopping onto his soft, warm mattress and his lavender scented down pillows. Up above, the stars blink behind the thin clouds creeping along the black canvas of sky. He climbs into the car after Dean disappears into the building. Slamming the door shut, he presses his forehead against the cool leather of his steering wheel. 

The man had made Ash feel worthless, like he was nothing more than a toy to be taken and used and played with whenever an alpha so wishes. He had left Ash feeling filthy and unclean, and Ash had scrubbed his skin raw in the showers for weeks after the incident at 104th. It was not only buried in the roots of Ash’s hair, scored into his skin, but it had also burrowed its way deep into Ash, beyond mere integumentary layers, and ingrained itself into Ash’s psyche, anchoring within him. 

And he had gotten away. Ash had the chance to exact his revenge but circumstances would not allow it, and the man had slipped right through his fingers—not unscathed, but he’d escaped nonetheless. 

He wishes that it didn’t affect him so much; wishes he was able to accept the fact that that night, it was his body and his instincts acting on his behalf, that there was nothing he could have done to change the way he reacted. He wants to accept that at the end of the day, it had been nothing more than two primal beings meeting in a heated affair. He could commit murder and kill a dozen men in one night and feel nothing but exhilaration. He’s stronger than this. 

So why can he still feel the rough drag of those fingers over his hips, and the way the rancid breath pooled at the dip of his collarbones? Why is it that despite the amount of times he’s had the blood of multiple men and women splattered all over his body, it was only when he recalled the darkness of that basement, the feeling of the man pressed against him so intimately, that he had first felt his flesh crawl, itching to get out of his tarnished skin?

And it’s those very thoughts and emotions running through Ash that direct him as drives. They tell him to not turn where he usually does to get home, but to go straight. Down this road, turn right, take the second exit, and before he knows it he’s standing in front of an apartment building—the very same apartment he was in that night—waiting to get buzzed up, waiting to be greeted by the owner of the deep voice that crackles over the intercom. 

“Ash?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for long chapters! i fell asleep editing this! enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

Aside from the idle chatter that comes with their usual get-togethers with the others, and the times Tony asks Ash to bring him just one more alcoholic beverage, Tony hadn’t had the chance to properly, _properly_ , speak with Ash since he had walked out of Tony’s apartment months ago, wearing Tony's shirt. 

He had filled his days with trips to the gym, booze, and other omegas, but despite everything, his plan to distract himself proved futile because at the end of every single day, when he lies down in bed and stares into the darkness, without exception, the only thing he can think about is Ash. 

But it’s been a while now, and the longer he procrastinates, the harder it is to convince himself to actually do it, which is why he hesitates to let him come up to his room, and why he’s still speechless when he opens the door and sees the taller boy standing in the hallway.

He steps aside to let Ash in and watches as he falls onto Tony’s couch leaning back into the cushions with his head thrown back. Tony waits for him to say something. 

He doesn’t. 

“Uh, so what are you—do you wanna drink or something? I have um, beer,” he says clumsily, “and water.” He hates that he fumbles his words around Ash now. He misses the days when he and Ash would throw quips and trade insults back and forth without a pause in between, back when Tony’s instincts weren’t constantly nagging at him to claim Ash already, bite into the tender flesh of his neck and make him his. Back when his heart wasn’t so taken with him. Ash shakes his head. 

Tony approaches him slowly, like Ash is a stray animal, a tightly wound spring, ready to sprint away in the blink of an eye. He’s not sure what to do at this point, so he sits on the couch next to Ash, careful to keep his distance.

“So,” he starts, folding his arms and leaning back into the space where the arm of the couch meets the back, “wanna tell me why the fuck you decided to come here at…” he checks the clock hanging in the kitchen, “quarter to two in the morning?”

Ash’s brings a hand up to run down his face, letting it flop onto the couch beside him with a soft thud. He shrugs. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Usually this would be Tony’s cue to tell him to fucking spit it out and stop wasting his time, but Ash looks so worn out and so bloody exhausted that, for once, Tony keeps his mouth shut. A silence falls over them, before Ash speaks, voice quiet, like he intends for it not to reach Tony.

“Where have you been?” he asks, like a child complaining. 

Tony takes a while to answer, the question blindsiding him, “Just…around, I guess.”

Because why would Ash care? He's got Dean, he's got his other friends and his work life to worry about. It shouldn't matter where Tony has been. But Tony knows that Ash understands what it means when he answers with vague words like that. He knows full well what Tony’s been doing: girls with long hair and tight dresses and full chests, all in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about Ash, what his hair felt like as it ran between his fingers like spun gold and silk, what he smelt like, honeyed and warm. He had to stop thinking about him and the fact that he was with someone else. 

“Just around?” Ash presses.

“Yeah, _around_ ,” Tony repeats, “while you were off fucking that _beta_ —”

“That beta has been at my side since the day we met, and you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t see,” Ash argues, but he looks too tired for this, too worn. He speaks again before Tony can retort, “I’m not here to fight with you Tony. Besides, there was nothing serious between us, you must have seen that. You’ve sorta gotten in the way of it.”

The last part he says barely above a whisper and it renders Tony speechless. Then he takes off his jacket, and Tony’s heart sinks when he sees Ash’s throat. 

“See this? He was there today,” Ash says, changing the topic completely before Tony can gather his thoughts.

“Wait, wh—”

“That guy, that fucking piece of shit asshole from 104th street, where I was—when I…” Ash takes a deep breath, “he came to my work, looking for me, and he was right there and I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t, I didn’t fucking kill him—” he spits out, hands in front of him as if he was strangling somebody.

“I don’t—let’s just slow down, calm down a bit, alright—” Tony says, trying to process everything that’s being thrown at him.

Ash laughs dryly, a hollow sound, “Calm down? God, why the _fuck_ does everyone keep telling me that? Since when, in the history of people being told to ‘calm down’, has anyone actually ever _calmed_. _The fuck_. _Down_?” Ash ends the sentence with a piercing glare, those green eyes burning through Tony like acid, “That guy fucked me up, man, like _seriously_ , _fucked me up_. I had the chance to kill him. With my own bare hands, he was right there, _this_ close to dying and—and I still fucking _missed_ it.”

“We’ll—we’ll get him, okay?” Tony awkwardly assures him. He wants to reach out and put a placating hand on Ash’s shoulder, but something tells him it wouldn’t be welcome, “We will. I promise you. We’ll get him.”

Ash closes his eyes and leans forward like he’s about to be sick on Tony’s carpet. 

“So,” Tony says, breaking the silence once more, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know there’s more pressing, uh, matters at hand but um, could you—could you um, repeat what you said before, when you said it wasn’t serious between you and Dean? ”

Ash fixes him with a look of disappointment like Tony hasn’t listened to a word he’d just said. Which is false. Tony was listening. Tony was definitely listening. Ash rubs his forehead and hunches over again to rest his elbow on his knees, staring at his hands between them.

“Out of everything I’ve said you’re really gonna focus on that, huh?”

“Well, I mean you can’t really drop that in the middle of the conversation and not expect me to react,” when Ash doesn't answer, Tony continues, quieter, "why did you pick me tonight? I'm having a hard time believing I was the first choice for you to tell this to." 

Ash sighs. “Because...last time—and for fuck’s sake don’t let this get to your massive fucking head—” Tony raises an eyebrow at that, more mildly entertained now than anything at the barbs that Ash spits at him, “but…the last time he made me feel…feel like _this_ , you—you made me feel… _good_. Like I wasn’t…” he stammers out, staring at the grey carpet beneath his feet, “and ever since then I couldn’t—not with Dean, because you—ugh, fuck this, this is stupid,” Ash finishes and he straightens up like he’s about to leave. 

And Tony doesn’t know how to respond. Hearing those words tumble out of Ash’s mouth does something to his stomach and he’s not sure what it all means. It takes the wind out of Tony’s sails, so he takes a breath in order to bring himself back on track.

He watches Ash, Ash and his fine blond hair and his bright green eyes. He’s struggling to find his words but it doesn’t matter because Tony’s stopped paying attention now; instead he’s trying to figure out if this is what it’s like to fall completely, hopelessly in love with someone. Ash is struggling to find his words but it doesn’t matter because Tony’s stopped paying attention now, instead he’s leaning forward, and he’s nosing at Ash’s cheek, and when Ash turns around, Tony’s kissing the words right out of his mouth, and suddenly Tony understands just what he was trying to say.

—

It takes Ash a while to respond, to process that right now Tony has his lips pressed against his own. His heart had taken residence in his throat as soon as Tony leaned into his space, and now he’s a little breathless and a little paralysed. When he finally reboots, he lifts his hands up, holding them awkwardly in the air, not knowing where to place them. They finally find purchase, one arm leaning on the back of the couch and one hand gripping his own knee. He can feel his heart beating away like a frightened starling in a cage, throwing itself against the bars, screaming to be let free, as Tony pulls away slowly, almost reluctantly. Green meets orange as their eyes open, faces remaining mere inches apart. Ash licks his lips.

“Do that again,” he breathes.

“Alright.” 

And so he noses at Ash’s cheek, brushing it against the stray tear at the corner of his eye, and kisses Ash again.

—

The heat radiates off Tony’s body and Ash just wants to wrap himself in it and never leave. The scent of alpha—a proper alpha—washes over him like a warm shower on a winter’s day, smoothing away his sharp edges. He breaks away to kiss a trail down the side of Tony’s neck, and he hears him groan deep and low, the sound of it reverberating through Ash’s entire body. He feels a large hand grip at his bicep, tightening around his sinewy arm as he kisses the sensitive skin of his throat, relishing the effect it’s having on the usually stubborn man. He removes himself from Tony and looks at him, rendered red-faced and breathless from just kissing Ash alone.

“I’m assuming you have a bedroom that we can use,” Ash says, even though he’s been here before, and he’s all too well aware that Tony does in fact, have a bedroom.

“Um,” Tony replies, a little too disorientated by the current situation to register what Ash was asking, mind still reeling from the velvet softness of Ash’s lips. Ash tilts his head, waiting for Tony to pull himself together, before he just leans forward and kisses him again because Tony’s apparently short-circuited.

It feels like it takes them longer than it should to reach Tony’s room. When they finally arrive, Ash gets the wind knocked out of him as Tony uses his body to slam the bedroom door closed—although Ash doesn’t see the point seeing as he lives alone. Before he can recover, Tony’s grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling him down to cover his mouth with his own, and he kisses him like he doesn’t have the whole night to do so. Ash runs his hand up Tony’s torso, feeling the solid muscles tense beneath his hands as he pushes Tony’s jacket off his broad shoulders. Part of him still can’t believe it’s Tony pressing him against the door, Tony’s room that he’s currently inside, Tony that is literally taking his breath away. When Tony finally peels away from him to let him breathe, his lungs burn as he takes in a gasp of air, feeling the cool air rush into his airways. Tony walks towards the bed, and Ash follows him closely, fingers hooked around Tony’s. He feels like he’s in highschool all over again: light-headed and giddy as he gets dragged into some beta girl’s room, except this time the room is filled with the heady scent of alpha, and the girl is instead a broad-shouldered, flat-chested guy called Tony. 

Tony sits down on the bed and his hands reach out to rest on Ash’s hips to pull him in and Ash straddles his knees to connect their lips once again. It’s slightly awkward with Ash’s long limbs and the fact that he already has half a head over Tony, so he feels like he’s towering over the brown-haired man even more so than usual. They only break apart for air, before Ash is sliding down Tony’s front, dropping to his knees, and the sight alone already has Tony at half-mast. 

“You look so good like this—” he starts, but Ash doesn’t let him finish.

He pulls Tony’s cock out of his pants, giving it a few slow tugs, before he replaces his hand with his mouth. Tony throws his head back and curses as he leans back. The sudden wet warmth is an unexpected but welcome sensation as Ash braces himself with a hand on Tony’s thigh and the other hand around the base of his dick. Tony spits out a string of profanities— _oh God, fuck, holy shit, fuck yes_ —as Ash starts off with a long, slow lick, and then his head is moving up and down on him, hollowing his cheeks as he follows his mouth with his hand. Without taking his eyes off of Ash’s lips stretched around his girth, Tony’s own hand finds its way to rest in Ash’s soft blond hair. The moans as Tony takes a fistful of hair shoot straight to his cock, and he has to physically stop himself from ramming himself into Ash’s mouth. 

“Oh shit—” Tony breathes out as he feels the head of his cock hit the back of Ash’s throat.

He feels himself reach the same spot a couple more times, and then feels himself slip further down and realises that Ash—unfortunately—does have a gag reflex. The heave that surges forward only makes the sadist in Tony want to fuck into his throat more—he wants to hear Ash make more of those sounds as he chokes on his dick. There’s a mixture of saliva and pre-come dripping down from his lips as he tries to keep Tony in his mouth, tries to take him in further, and it’s so fucking _filthy_ , but holy _shit_ does it do things to Tony, seeing it trickle out of Ash’s mouth and down his chin. The second time it happens, Ash is ready for it. Tony groans when he feels Ash swallow around him, attempting to adjust, and it feels like fucking heaven when the pressure travels along his length. The ability with which he takes it the second time makes Tony wonder how many times Ash has done this before. He doesn't enjoy that thought.

“Ash,” he manages to choke out. The blond doesn’t falter in his ministrations, “ _Ash_ ,” he calls out again with more urgency, sitting up, “Ash stop, I’m gonna fucking—” and with that, the omega pulls off completely, leaving him hot and hard and without release. There’s a thread of saliva connecting the tip of his cock to Ash’s bottom lip and it’s a disgusting but devastatingly arousing sight, and Tony shuts his eyes before the sight alone sends him tumbling into an unfulfilling orgasm. Ash would definitely not let him live it down if that happened.

Ash wastes no time climbing onto the bed, pressing kisses against his warm skin on the way up, hovering over Tony, back to their previous positions.

He drapes his arms loosely over Tony’s shoulders and presses his pelvis against his, feeling the heat in his own gut burn with a restless flame. Tony’s warmth seeps through the thin grey shirt he’s wearing, and Ash just wants to tear off the offending piece of clothing so he can feel it directly against his own skin. He doesn’t miss the way Tony’s fingers trace along his neck, the large bruise forming clear and obvious against the blank canvas of his throat, curling around his neck like a collar. He flinches when Tony kisses it, small, delicate kisses and Ash bares his neck.

He moves his hips, slowly at first, in a steady rhythm, feeling the weight of Tony’s member against his the inside of his thighs. Tony’s hands slide back to rest on the curve of his denim-clad ass, encouraging him to move faster, harder. A mouth latches onto the hollow of his neck between his collarbones and—was Tony leaving a goddamn hickey right there?

“Just wanna leave a few marks on you,” Tony says, “as a warning to everybody else.” 

Ash scoffs, “A warning? For what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Tony mumbles before he noses at Ash’s throat, inhaling deeply, “a warning that you're now mine. You smell so fucking good,” he mumbles into his skin. Ash knows he’s scenting like crazy right now, his bonding site feeling warm, like a blush. It’s hard not to notice with their combined scent beginning to increase in intensity as they move against each other. Their pace is so goddamn _slow_ right now though, and it feels like it’s been a solid twenty or so years of foreplay and Ash is getting _very_ impatient. 

“If there’s anybody who’s dumb here it’s you.”

“Hm?” Tony hums, a little distracted.

Ash leans down and nips at the shell of Tony’s ear before speaking low and soft, “Any alpha with half a brain would have fucked me into oblivion ten minutes ago.” 

With a deep rumbling growl, Ash feels a bruising grip on his waist before he’s chucked bodily onto the mattress. Yeah, that’s more like it. He quickly unbuttons his own pants, eager to move things along. He manages to throw his pants to the side, knocking over Tony’s bedside lamp, and Tony is between his legs in a millisecond. Ash watches, breaths quickening, as Tony finally pulls that stupid fucking grey shirt over his head. Ash almost faints. Tony is all hard lines and even harder muscles—it makes Ash want to sink his teeth into him, feel the solid muscle against his tongue. His pants are still unbuttoned, and his dick is still out and as stiff as he left it. Knowing that the first time he had this was then he was in a state where he was not completely cognitively sound, not able to fully display just how much he appreciated this insane body above him…it truly was a fucking waste.

“What?” Tony asks, a cocky smirk on his face as Ash shivers, partly from the cold as he lies there in nothing but a thin button-down shirt, partly from the fact that Tony is staring down at him with hooded, amber-coloured eyes. He hopes that Tony can’t hear Ash’s heart beating harder and faster just to keep the blood flowing around his body and not just to his dick.

“Seriously, Tony, if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m going to get up and leave and find some other alpha to take care of me,” Ash threatens. 

Tony finally shuffles closer to Ash and leans down. When Ash feels Tony’s dick press against him, he stops him with a hand on his firm, well-defined pectoral.

“Wait, wait,” Ash says. Tony doesn’t move an inch closer, but he scrunches his eyebrows at Ash's mixed messages, “you’re not planning on skipping out on the condom right?” 

A light seems to flicker on in Tony’s head as the synapses finally communicate, “Oh. Right. Yeah, I was just going to grab…those…” he trails off as he crawls over to his bedside table to pull out a string of condoms and a crushed bottle of lube that looks like its seen better days, squeezed to within an inch of its life. Ash runs his eyes appreciatively over Tony’s body that seems to be been cut straight from solid stone. Warm, tanned skin, littered with scars and yellowing bruises, he drinks in the sight of every dip and plane of his impeccable form, watching his every movement. He would have been grateful that his skinny body was covered if it weren’t for the fact that Tony had seen everything before anyway.

He returns to his spot between Ash’s legs, fingers shining with clear lube. Ash nudges him forward with a heel digging painfully into the small of his back and that spurs Tony into action. 

The second the cold lube touches his skin, Ash flinches. “Fuck,” he gasps as he reflexively grabs at Tony’s wrist, “warm that shit up first, you dick.” 

“Well whose fucking fault is that? You’re the one rushing me,” Tony retaliates, then muttering under his breath “you’re so fucking demanding.”

“I once watched an elderly man trek through wet concrete once,” Ash says, “he was probably going at ten times the speed you’re currently at, Tony. Get a fucking move on,” he urges, prodding Tony’s side with his cold feet.

“Don't talk about old wrinkly dudes while we're—just—just shut the fuck up,” and with his free hand he grabs at Ash’s ankle to still him. 

Ash holds Tony’s gaze, “Make me.” 

Tony glares down at him with a face that makes Ash think that Tony either wants to punch him or fuck him so hard into the mattress he’ll be out of commission for at least a month. He’s hoping it’s the latter. 

“On your stomach,” Tony commands. Ash opens his mouth to tease and protest just to rile Tony up, but Tony rolls his eyes, “shut up and roll over.” 

When he’s halfway around, a large hand pushes his shoulder down. He impulsively tries to push himself up onto his elbows when the same hand comes down onto the back of his neck, holding him against the pillow. The rough skin presses onto his bonding site, and it does something to Ash. A rush of energy pulses through every nerve ending in his body, and his breathing increases ten-fold, and his muscles refuse to listen to him anymore, instead choosing to obey the presence of an alpha’s—no, _Tony’s_ —hand around his neck. 

“Keep still”. 

With the constant rubbing at the bonding site, Ash’s entire body submits to the alpha behind him, and Tony finally relinquishes his death grip on him. A hand lifts his hips so that Ash is on his knees, before Ash hears the uncapping and capping of the bottle again, and finally, _finally_ , he feels something against his entrance. It takes a few seconds for him to relax and allow Tony to fuck him with his finger. He breathes in the scent of Tony on his pillow, a grounding presence, as he attempts to keep his breathing slow and even. Another finger touches him, and he hears Tony’s voice cut through the air that has become heavy with silence,

“You good?” 

Ash makes a small sound of affirmation, and Tony pushes the second finger in. The lube makes it a lot easier, but the fact that Ash isn’t on his heat means a lot more preparation has to be done to make it comfortable for the both of them. Tony moves painfully slow, taking his time watching Ash writhe and struggle to keep his composure, to keep his moans from escaping, to keep his breathing as steady as possible. He scrunches the sheets in his fists, feeling Tony’s fingers move inside him, stretching him—until the discomfort makes way for pleasure. He takes a deep breath. 

“Another.”

“You sure?” 

Ash nods, before he pushes his face into the soft linen of Tony’s pillowcase and takes in a sharp breath. The introduction of the third finger makes Ash moan quietly, and Tony rubs his hipbone with his thumb in soft, little circles. There’s a shudder with every inhale as Tony begins to pump his fingers in and out. It feels like forever. Ash never thought Tony would be the patient type in bed, waiting until Ash was comfortable before he continued. He had always imagined—always _would_ have imagined, if he ever _did_ imagine such things, which he had _never_ done before in his life—that Tony would be a little more selfish, a little more impatient. Instead, he’s pleasantly surprised. 

He can hear his own blood rushing through his body, electrified.

“Do it,” he says after a few minutes of slow, deliberate preparation. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

His breath catches in his throat when Tony nudges into him. And he knows Tony hears it, because suddenly there’s a warm hand running along his shoulder blade, stroking over the fabric of his shirt with a firm pressure in an attempt to both distract and soothe him. He swallows when he feels Tony push in deeper, the hand moving to rest against his ribs, pushing his shirt up so his lips can move lightly along his spine, kissing along each vertebra, gentle and delicate—it makes Ash wonder if this is the same Tony he’s known for the past few years or if he’s been replaced by some sort of soft-handed doppelganger.

It takes some time, but Tony finally pushes all the way in and Ash tightens his fingers on the pillow as he takes deep lungfuls of air, failing to hide the small sound that escapes when he exhales. Tony begins moving his hips, and Ash doesn’t bother to hold back his voice anymore, allowing himself to moan Tony’s name into the bedsheets. The friction inside him renders him weak and motionless. He feels blunt nails scrape along his back as Tony fucks him from behind, trembling when he feels the slight burn they leave in their wake. Tony’s right hand slides over his as he leans forward to kiss his nape, his fingers filling the gaps between Ash’s more slender, longer fingers. 

Ash kisses his bruised knuckles, brushes his eyelashes over every old wound and contusion. 

Tony begins to move faster, pushing into Ash harder. Ash grits his teeth, muttering a string of “oh god”s and “fuck yeah”s as he struggles to take a breath as Tony reduces him to a panting, weak mess with every roll of his hips, fucking the air right out of his lungs. Tony is muttering profanities and encouragements into his ear, the deep voice like syrup, dripping down his neck, warm and sweet until the words begin catching in between his vocal cords and his tongue. Hearing the way Tony stutters and the way his breath hitches with every thrust gives Ash a sense of satisfaction, knowing that he’s not the only one losing control. 

He feels himself getting close, curses slowly dissipating into nothing but moans and gasps. He feels it growing inside him, a burning sensation that razes his entire body, and he finds himself a hair’s breadth from the peak—and then Tony is speaking into his ear, voice low and heady.

“I couldn’t, after you,” he begins, and Ash, his sex-addled mind having trouble figuring out what the fuck Tony was talking about, can only whimper in response, “I just couldn’t. That girl at the bar, everyone that came after that, I—“ he kisses Ash’s neck, warm puffs of air melting into his delicate skin as he fucks Ash’s tight heat, “I only want you, Ash. Can only want you. Only you,” he manages to choke out between pants. 

The pure, unadulterated desperation and raw emotion coursing through his words are what Ash needs to reach his climax.

“Fuck—” he manages to choke out before the pressure that’s been building up and up inside him finally, _finally—oh God, finally_ —reaches, surpasses, its threshold, and he’s coming untouched onto Tony’s bedsheets, streaks of white tarnishing the dark fabric, all but gasping Tony’s name over and over again like a prayer. He can feel Tony inside him, still fucking into him as he trembles uncontrollably, walls convulsing and whining and pushing his hips desperately back to ride out his orgasm on Tony’s cock, and then he falls limp in Tony’s hold. Tony is close, he can feel it in the way his movements falter and become more and more erratic, and the way his fingers flex and grip around Ash’s thighs.

“Please,” Tony continues, fucking into Ash’s sensitive body as Ash moans helplessly into his pillows, dark patches where Ash’s tears have soaked into the fabric, the overstimulation too much for Ash to handle, “if you want me as much as I want you, _God_ ,” he kisses the back of Ash’s neck, trailing them along the curve of his ear, before resting on the skin below, “Ash, if you’d have me, please, _fuck_ , let me have you—” 

“Tony—” Ash says when he rediscovers his voice, “yes, fucking _yes_ ,” he all but growls, reaching back to hold Tony’s head where he’s mouth against Ash’s bonding site, “do it.” 

There’s not a second in between Ash’s order and the clamping of teeth right over the delicate skin, hand pressing firm over the bounding pulse of his jugular vein. In this very moment Ash swears he’s reached some other plane of existence. A wave of light-headedness floods his entire being, like he’s suddenly weightless amongst the clouds, before he feels a rush of what he can only describe as gravity, pulling him back down, sending him crashing through the earth’s surface and into an endless void where he can see and hear and feel nothing but Tony, Tony’s scent, Tony’s rapid breaths, Tony fucking him so hard he swears he can taste come at the back of his throat. When he finally comes to, he’s gasping for air just as Tony’s teeth threaten to break through the soft skin of Ash’s neck as he pulls Ash tight against his body. Then, Ash feels the swelling of a knot against his rim, before one final push allows it to fully sink into him.

The numbing high that came from the bite wears off shortly.

“Fucking hell,” Ash complains as he pushes himself up and attempts to move away.

“Ow, don’t fucking do that,” Tony reprimands, gripping Ash’s hips tightly against him, “we just bonded and you’re already trynna rip my goddamn dick off, is that what you want?”

“Yes goddammit, it fucking hurts, Jesus—ah!” Ash’s complaint is cut off by a moan when Tony takes a fistful of hair to jerk his head up so he can suck on the skin beneath his jaw, “Oh…oh…holy fuck,” it’s a painful yet extremely pleasant sensation, having Tony’s huge knot fill him up and stretch him to his limits while a warm, wet mouth presses against his throat. It has Ash dissolving in Tony’s arms. A small defiant noise leaves him, but that’s all he manages before he gives in completely.

Tony manages to manoeuvre them, albeit a little awkwardly, into a position where they can both lie down to catch their breath. He presses against Ash’s back, feeling the soft hairs on his nape against his cheek. He slings an arm over Ash’s body, pulling him closer. Tony presses his lips against the tender spot on Ash’s neck, and Ash, in spite of himself, let’s out a soft sigh. They lay there, joined together in more ways now than ever before, before Tony breaks the silence. 

“You know, you come like a girl.” 

Ash elbows Tony in the ribs as hard as he can.

—

He’s finally able to pull out after a few long minutes of being tied to Ash, and the blond exhales like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. Tony rolls over onto his back and shakes his arm that’s gone dead with the weight of Ash pressing down on his nerves. He pulls off the condom, grimacing, and bundles it up in a tissue before lobbing it at a bin and missing. Sitting up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The whole room smells like the both of them, intertwined. His darker, more powerful scent mingling with Ash’s crisp and elegant aroma. It’s perfect, and it makes Tony feel a little bit… _giddy_ inside, for lack of a better word. He glances over at Ash who’s already tapping away furiously on his phone. 

“Who’re you messaging?” Tony asks, grabbing a towel off the floor. 

“Dean,” the name elicits a deep rumble from the alpha, “he’s been texting me all night telling me to head over to his place,” he chances a look at Tony, who is now glaring at his phone like it’s somehow just personally offended him.

“What?” Tony growls.

Ash laughs, “Dude, chill,” he says, putting his hands up. He drops his phone onto the pillow beside him and rolls over, pulling the blanket up and around his shoulders. He props his head up on his hand, “he’s just a friend, you know that, and he was just concerned about what had happened at the bar. Besides, I told him I’m…preoccupied.” 

Tony tries to resist the urge to sit down on the bed, lean down and peck Ash on the lips, and fails miserably. Ash smiles into it, clearly pleased with the discovery of this hitherto unknown side of Tony’s personality.

“Look at you, Mr. Punch-everyone-and-everything, a big softie. I gotta admit, this is a little weird. Didn’t expect you to be this much of an affectionate-type. Do you do this with all the omegas you take to bed?”

“Fuck off,” Tony growls as he smushes a hand into Ash’s face, sending him toppling over onto his back, “I’m gonna shower now, wanna join?” Tony asks, holding out a (possibly clean) towel for Ash. 

Ash shakes his head, “I’m tired, maybe later,” he makes a sound of content as he burrows deeper into his blanket-cocoon, “your bed is way too comfy.” 

Tony shrugs, as if to say ‘ _suit yourself_ ’ before he makes his trip to the bathroom. 

—

Not even five minutes pass before Ash enters the bathroom unannounced to give Tony the best head he’s received since the last time his dick was in Ash’s mouth. 

—

The next morning, Tony is greeted by the gentle heat of the midday sun flooding his room. He blinks his eyes open and flinches at how bright the sun is as it forces its way through the sheer curtains. There’s a warm body tucked under his arm, and he looks down at the crop of corn-coloured hair. The sunlight spills over Ash, across his pale skin, bathing him in an ethereal golden glow, and Tony feels his chest swell with something akin to adoration. His eyes land on the purple mark that’s blossomed overnight—newer than the hand-shaped ones, sitting in that particular spot, and he brushes over it gently with his fingers, heart beating terribly fast in his chest at the mere thought of it and what it represents. This is going to take some getting used to. Never in his life had he even entertained the idea of bonding, especially at this point in his life, what with his current lifestyle and aversion to commitment. Yet here he is, with Ash of all people lying against him, the smell of their intertwined scent settling like dust over all his belongings. 

He follows the gentle curves of Ash’s body with his hand, lightly touching. His body isn’t like that of a girl’s, but its smooth lines and gentle slopes bring about a unexpected softness to him. Barring the few scars littered around his body, like a roadmap to untold secrets to which only a select few are privy, his skin feels far too soft for someone who spends a considerable amount of time shooting and stabbing people while also getting shot and stabbed. Ash’s light hair is silky against Tony’s nose, and it smells faintly like watermelons and cucumber. He moves down to kiss Ash softly between the shoulder blades. He nuzzles into Ash’s hair once again. The smell of omega—Ash—fills his entire body. 

Sweet, refreshing. His.

Ash grunts at the disturbance before rolling over with a tired groan. His eyes open slightly, and Tony is mesmerised by how vibrantly his eyes gleam, shimmering like peridots under the midday sun, and how dark his eyelashes are despite his light blond hair.

“G’morning,” Ash croaks. 

“It’s not morning,” Tony corrects. He can’t help but return the smile that Ash sends his way before he buries his face into Tony’s neck, chuckling softly.

They spend another hour or so wrapped up in each other. Tony can feel Ash breathing against him, a low, constant rise and fall that coaxes him back to sleep. It’s like the entire world has been put on hold, just for them.

By the time they separate, it’s _well_ past noon, with the sun high and imposing in the sky. Tony pushes himself up to sit against his headboard as Ash re-swaddles himself like a large burrito. 

“So,” Ash starts, “that happened.” 

“Hm, yeah”.

Tony lights a cigarette, and Ash stares at the body beside him. The pure strength that Tony possesses moves under his skin, vibrates like a warning poised at the tip of a rattlesnake’s tail. Any other person would feel intimidated by the danger that lurks beneath, but Ash feels at ease. Safe. 

Ash watches as Tony brings the cigarette to his lips again, takes a breath, and blows out a cloud of grey; he watches him do it again, and again. By the seventh time, before he puts it in his mouth, Ash moves to pluck it from his fingers. He leans over Tony to stub the almost full cigarette out in the ash tray on the bedside table. Tony opens his mouth to chew him out for wasting a perfectly good cigarette, but Ash closes the distance between them. Tony stills for a second, but soon Ash feels a hand cup his face and another come rest on his waist. He kisses him again, feeling those chapped lips brush against his own, and he gives in to the bitter taste of tobacco, surrenders himself to the grip around his hips, and he does it again, and again, not wanting to stop. This is something he can do now, he thinks to himself, and he doesn’t try to stop the smile spreading across his face.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he asks between two kisses.

Tony smirks, “Not as long as I’ve been.”

Ash smiles and and leans forward, “I really like this,” he murmurs, running his nose down the side of Tony’s.

And Tony replies with a peck on the lips, “Yeah, me too.”

He leans back and places a soft hand on the side of Tony’s face, thumb moving gently, slowly over his cheekbone that he’s seen bruised and battered many times, yet remains perfectly sculpted, “I really like you,” he says, eyes roving over Tony’s stupidly handsome face.

Tony turns his head to kiss the palm of his hand, and Ash feels the skin of his hand tingle where Tony’s lips have been. His fingers curl into a loose fist as if to keep a hold on the kiss against his heart line.

“That’s really fuckin’ cheesy, dude,” Tony finally says, snickering as his own hand comes up to thread his fingers between Ash’s, but Ash pulls his hand out of Tony’s and rolls back to his side of the bed, facing the ceiling.

“Fuck you, man, that’s the last time I try to say something romantic,” he says, smacking Tony on the leg, far too close to the family jewels to be safe, and Tony mutters “there he is” as he hisses in pain and rubs his leg. 

“The others are gonna be pretty weirded out by this,” Ash says, rubbing his fingers over the growing bruise on his neck.

Tony laughs, short and loud, and Ash finds himself loving the sound more and more, “Oh, fuck yeah.” 

—

Tony doesn’t believe in karma. Of course, there have been many incidences where he has seen people receive their just deserts: has watched gang leaders get their heads pummelled into slush with hammers and crowbars, drug suppliers and dealers meeting their end under a steel-capped boot, and maybe back then he believed it had something to do with the principle that one’s actions had a role in influencing one’s future. Yes, Tony had maybe once thought that there was some sort of otherworldly entity or preternatural force that delivered justice to those deserving, but he is beginning to have his doubts. 

See, Tony had never been one to err on the good side of law or human nature. He couldn’t pull from within him two shreds of kindness to rub together, and if he ever did possess such things, they had certainly been lost by the time his kneecaps ossified and he learned how to walk. In kindergarten, he threw sand into young, unsuspecting eyes, found delight in scraped knees and hands. In school he had punched, and kicked, and watched in delight as burst capillaries flowered in purple patches all over the faces of his peers. And as he grew, he traded grazed elbows for broken jaws, and saline for thick, red blood.

Yet here he is, lying beside an omega that tastes of sweet nectar and smells like a dream. A gorgeous, vicious, beautiful thing that gives himself fully to Tony, despite everything.

So no, Tony doesn’t believe in karma, at least, not anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ooh, wow,” Alex says, not taking her eyes off the tv. She’s eating a piece of toast, ninety percent of which falls down her tank top as loose, buttery crumbs, “first of all, gross. Secondly, I don’t know if you’ve heard about them but there are these things—not new, by the way—they’re called _showers_ , you should look into them, you smell like…well, you know.” 

Ash toes his shoes off and makes his way to where Ash is sitting. 

“Okay, first of all, fuck you,” Ash mimics, chucking his phone onto the coffee table in front of Alex, and dropping himself onto the couch, “secondly, I _did_ have a shower, so again, fuck you.”

Alex snorts, “Blowing someone under a stream of hot water for two minutes doesn’t exactly count as a shower, Ash” she says, turning back to her toast.

“It was more than two—” he argues, but stops when Alex raises her eyebrow at him, “wait how’d you—”

“I didn’t,” she says, face scrunching in disgust, “seriously? In the shower?” Alex makes a show of gagging, cutting Ash off before he can make an attempt to defend himself. She gets up to brush the crumbs off her shirt and makes her way over to the kitchen to dump her plate in the sink, “So you and Tony, huh. Never would have guessed.”

Ash slouches, stretching his limbs out into Alex’s spot, “That makes two of us.” 

“I mean, minus the whole thing when—you know, the heat thing…” she trails off, gesturing vague in the air as she returns to her designated seat on the couch. When Ash doesn’t show any intention of moving his legs, she sits on them, “but I mean, that was ages ago and we all thought it was a one-off thing, so this is still a little bit of a surprise—like, we’re so used to you just being at each other’s throats all the time,” she strangles the air in front of her, “well, until he started sulking for literally _weeks_ because of you. That was weird.” 

“He what?” 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice,” Alex scoffs, “every single time we went to Hank’s together, he’d spend the entire night moping around and glaring at Dean.”

That catches Ash off-guard, and the thought makes a warm flush blossom on his face. He hadn't expected that and it was…kind of adorable, really. 

“Don’t do that, it doesn’t suit you and it’s creepy,” Alex says as Ash tries his hardest not to smile, “so what’d you guys get up to last night? Is this going anywhere?”

“What _didn’t_ we do last night.” Ash says, pulling the neck of his shirt to the side to reveal the bruising bite mark on his pale skin.

“No, wait. I don’t wanna know any details—” she says lifting a hand up and looking away, but she whips her head back round when she realises what exactly she’s looking at. Ash laughs, letting his shirt go, “Wait…w-wait a minute, _that’s_ what, what—I mean,” she opens and closes her mouth like a fish on dry land, “I know it’s a little too late for me to say anything but…are you sure about this? Am—am I having a stroke?”

Ash pulls at a thread from the arm of the couch, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure," he replies nonchalantly, "just…just don’t tell anybody about this, it’s still pretty new and…I just wanna take it slow.” 

She purses her lips and her eyes roam around his face. She bites her lip, and all she says is a single “ok” before falling uncharacteristically quiet. They continue to watch tv in silence with Ash absent-mindedly trailing his finger up and down the bite mark. There’s a dull ache if he presses on it, and he finds it’s not entirely unpleasant. He’s carrying the mark of an alpha on him, the scent of it sticking to his clothes and sinking into his pores, and every time Ash takes a breath, he finds himself missing Tony. It hasn’t even been two hours since he’d left the apartment and he’s already pining like a forlorn maiden, awaiting the return of her lover. Pathetic.

He glances over to his sister. He knows Alex is merely worried for him, and if he’s being honest, he would be too if he was in her place. He can tell that she’s holding back from bombarding Ash with concerns and reservations, and he didn’t blame her. Tony and Ash had never really seen eye-to-eye on many things, and they were more prone to arguing than any other two in their group. In fact, if the others had been fully on board with this new development straight off the bat, _that_ would have been unsettling. Dean had been the first to know when it happened, and while the beta had been nothing but supportive, Ash knew it was because he wasn’t aware of the full extent of Ash and Tony’s past animosity.

But everything that happened in the past year or so has severely fucked with Ash’s world, throwing it into a completely different orbit, tilting it on a completely different axis. Everything changed so much, there was no way anyone could have predicted anything like this was going to happen. And for some reason he just knew that this was good for him, this was what he wanted— _needed_. When Tony had bitten him, something inside him fell into place, something that wasn’t broken felt repaired, renewed. Like a splash of ice-cold water against heated skin, the first spark that turned a vast nothingness into an ever-expanding field of galaxies. The first breath after a coma.

—

The first time Ash calls Tony his boyfriend, Tony walks into a stop sign. 

The first time Tony calls Ash his boyfriend, Ash chokes on his taco and Mark has to sucker punch it out of him.

—

A couple of months into their relationship finds Ash lying on Tony’s couch sifting through tv channels as he waits for the alpha to emerge from the shower. Their relationship is still in its early stages, at least officially, so Tony had been making an effort to become what he believed to be a normal, good “boyfriend”. 

Their first official date had consisted of Tony taking Ash out to a restaurant, whereupon they had both stood up and left without ordering the moment they saw the first item on the menu: twenty-five dollars for a single dime-sized piece of seared scallop decorated with a single microgreen, and a little bit of sauce dribbled around it on the plate the size of their table. It had only taken one look from each of them for the other to nod, before they made their grand escape, with Ash stuffing as many free breadsticks into the jacket bundled in his arm (with Tony’s assistance).

Determined to not let the night become a complete failure, Tony had invited him back to his place instead and they both ended up sitting on Tony’s couch, still in their more-fancy-than-usual-shirts, and between them, the free breadsticks they’d absconded with and pizza ordered from the very place Mark used to work. 

“I knew it was fancy,” Tony had mumbled around cajun chicken, “but not _that_ fancy.”

“You didn’t think to check out their menu before taking me there?” Ash asked, picking off the pineapple on his pizza and putting them on Tony’s. 

“Zomato didn’t have a menu, alright?” Tony said defensively, holding out his slice of pizza to accept the fruit, “And I rushed to make a reservation because all the other fucking restaurants were all booked out and—”

“Tony,” Ash interrupted, as much as he wanted to listen to Tony babble, “it’s fine, I like pizza. That place was way too posh for me anyway, I didn’t know how to pronounce any of the shit on the menu.”

“Fuck,” Tony said with a relieved huff, “ _May I get you gentlemen something to drink?_ How about something that doesn’t cost a fucking kidney and a half, you poncy fuckwads,” Tony mocked.

“Yeah, shit,” Ash agreed, lifting his bottle of beer to clink against Tony’s as he let out a very classy, resounding belch, “I’ll drink to that. Hey, look, we agreed on something.”

Their second date was more or less a success, at least, if one was to ask them. The guys that were left picking their teeth up off the pavement would have had differing opinions. It started off with a battle between Ash’s choice, _“Blood of the Shrunken Seamonkey Head from Beyond”_ , and Tony’s choice, _“Cold Killing Attack Force Task Weapon Future Cobra Suicide Madness Escape Exit Squad VIII”_ , a conclusion having only been reached when an attendant on break pointed out that they had missed the final showing for both movies for the night. So instead, they watched _“Girl with a Cat-titude”_ a poorly-rated chick flick about a girl who somehow switched bodies with her secret crush’s cat and thus ended up having to work alongside him to switch them back. It was originally a joke, with Ash commenting on how Tony’s masculinity must be so fragile that he couldn’t touch a chick flick in fear it would shatter, and Tony stubbornly purchasing two tickets in retaliation. 

Neither would admit that they had been thoroughly invested in the budding romance between Carrie and Lucas, and are brimming with anticipation for the sequel, _“Girl with a Cat-titude: The Perfect Mewment”_. 

The walk to Ash’s car was filled with discussion on whether or not they should revisit the cinema at a later date to catch another movie. It hadn’t even been five minutes of exiting the building when a group of guys walked past, one of them bumping into Tony. The action would have gone unnoticed if the man hadn’t spun around and with loud and rambunctious abandon, threatened Tony, a mistake that would soon have them all sprawling on the concrete. It was only because there were other people passing by that they allowed them a choice between being an unfortunate, red smear on the pathway or getting the fuck out of their sight.

So overall, the relationship so far has been…pleasant. Tony had never been good with outwardly expressing his feelings, at least not without a veneer of snark or aggression, and so Ash takes every small, yet sincere action—messaging him to ask about his day, or stocking his pantry with Ash’s favourite snacks, anything that indicates that Tony does, in fact, care for him—as a victory. He remembers opening the pantry to see Reese’s cups and Reese’s pieces sitting directly in front of him, placed on one of the higher shelves. _“I thought you hated peanut butter”_ he had asked, walking into the bedroom with a packet of Reese’s pieces crinkling in his hand, and Tony had simply replied, without looking up from his phone, _“I do”_. In return, Ash tries not to be as sarcastic and crass and hopes Tony understands that this is his way of saying _“I care”_. 

A notification from his phone cuts through the sounds of David Attenborough attempting to befriend a baby rhino on TV, and pulls him out of his reverie. It’s a message from Eric. With one eyebrow raised, Ash opens the message:

_> hey ash, can we talk?_

—

The bar Ash finds himself in is a lot more refined than Hank’s Bar, with rich maroon walls and polished tables that don’t stick to your forearms if you lean on them for too long. Like Hank’s, the air smells like cigarette smoke and scotch, but unlike Hank’s, it’s without the stink of withered alphas waiting out their days in a bar, sad and alone. The other patrons don’t pay him any mind when he walks in, keeping their attention on their companions or the drink they’re nursing. He orders a virgin moscow mule and scans the bar. When the charming bartender slides his drink over the counter, he finally spots Eric sitting in a booth, seated furthest from the entrance. Ash watches as he stubs out the end of his cigarette into the ash tray before pulling out a fresh one. He looks relatively inconspicuous, black hair pushed back, dressed in a unassuming navy button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

When he received the message, Ash had informed the others about this planned rendezvous. Eric had insisted he come alone for inconspicuousness’ sake, but they had all been quite opposed to him going alone, and for good reason. Eventually they had come up with a plan to all go separately to the bar, remaining close by in case things took an unsavoury turn.

“This is a nice place,” Ash says as he slides into the seat across from Eric, startling him before he realises who Ash is and visibly relaxes. He brings his drink closer to himself to rest his hand around it, but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth.

“There are other places to drink that aren’t Hank’s, you know,” the other man replies. He smells like a beta, fresh and beguilingly calming, even under the strong cologne he’d sprayed onto his wrists and neck. 

“Hank’s is tried and true, thank you very much.”

Eric smiles at him, an uneasy line across his face, as he flicks ash into the tray.

“Only if you like gross, old alphas and girls that sound like hyenas,” he counters. The smile eventually fades from his face and he takes a long drag from the cigarette.

“Can’t argue with that,” Ash concedes.

They have a few minutes of idle small talk to ease themselves into each other’s company, before Eric sets down his drink and looks at Ash.

“Ash,” Eric finally says, voice adopting a more serious tone, “before I say anything else I need you to promise me something.”

Ash narrows his eyes.

“Depends.” 

“Ash,” Eric implores, like Ash is a petulant child. 

“What? I can’t make promises if I don’t know what I’m promising.” 

Eric sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, like he’s dealing with a migraine that goes by the name of Ash. He looks back up at Ash, steepling his fingers in Ash’s direction, cigarette balancing precariously in between them.

“I need you to promise me you won’t do anything drastic—not here, at least—whatever you do afterwards with this information is up to you…”

“And…?” Ash prompts, sensing more to this.

“And,” he worries his lower lip with his teeth, “I’m gonna need you to forgive me.” 

Ash already has his hand on the gun at his hip before Eric can finish his sentence.

“Ash—no, it’s not what you think—” Eric’s hands fly out in front of him, in a pacifying gesture, “this isn’t a set-up, I promise you, I promise—God that was _such_ bad wording on my part. I can see how you—look, I’m just here to give you the information you want. I haven’t been completely honest with you. Just…don’t draw any unwanted attention. Please.”

Ash narrows his eyes, gun under the table still pointed at the man across from him, and Eric still remains the same, hands in front of him and unarmed. 

“Trust me, Ash,” he says, “please, just put that gun away.”

They stare at each other, Eric’s eyes pleading and Ash’s; searching. He finally puts his hand back on the table. Eric blows out air from his mouth, closing his eyes, having just narrowly avoiding having his liver splattered all over the pleather seats for no good reason.

The man puts out his second cigarette, and lights a third.

—

Ash can barely speak, can barely _breathe_ when the entire bar suddenly becomes a vacuum. The ice cubes in his drink are melting and his hands are numb from the cold glass. His eyes search Eric’s face for any sign that the man in front of him could possibly be lying—hoping that he’s lying—but he finds none. He’s dead serious. There’s ringing in his ears, a twitch in his fingers like he wants nothing but to reach over the table, wrap his hands around Eric’s throat and squeeze. But he can’t. He’s paralysed. 

“Ash,” Eric calls out to him. 

“Fuck off,” Ash spits out, “don’t you fucking spew this bullshit at me and expect me to just take it. How do you expect me to believe this?” 

“I didn’t think you would, but—”

“I’m not _dumb_ enough to just believe whatever you say, in fact, how do I know it wasn’t _you_ all along?” Ash accuses.

“You don’t, I just…I need you to trust me.” 

“ _Trust_ you? And why the fuck should I do that, Eric?” Ash hisses, “You seem to have taken your sweet fucking time telling me this—I mean, do you even have _proof_ to back up what you’re saying or are you just trying to fuck with me?”

“Actually…” Eric says, pulling out his phone, “I do.” 

Ash’s eyes widen, and he watches as Eric presses play, and a voicemail begins. 

_“Holy shit, dude,”_ the message begins, _“you would not guess who I saw tonight at the house. These masked fuckers came in right, tried to take our product. It was insane they had like all these weapons, cleared out a good number of us.”_ The sound of someone drinking water crackles through before the voice begins again, _“I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I guess I just need to let it all out and you’re the only one who knows about this…I know I can trust you to not tell anybody else.”_

Ash finds himself bracing for the next part of the message. 

_“Anyway, two of these guys were omegas, so we take one, thinking we could play around with him a little. We take him down, shoot him up with some of the good stuff, and guess who the fuck it was? Ash, fucking, Davis. Seriously. I couldn’t believe it. You should’ve seen him man, he was panting and moaning like a good little bitch in heat. It drove everyone nuts, man. Fuck, if I could—”_

Ash stops the message. He suddenly feels like he's been plunged in cold water, and he feels an incredible sense of nausea.

“This whole time, you knew,” Ash says icily, “you knew who it was.”

“Look I know I should’ve told you earlier.” 

“So why now, Eric?” 

“I was scared that he’d come after me. He’d find out eventually, right? I was the only person he’d told. But…it didn’t feel right to keep it from you,” he says with a lift of a shoulder, “you deserve to know.”

“You’re damn fucking right I do,” Ash says, suppressing the urge to punch Eric in the teeth. He downs the rest of his drink, to keep his hands busy. When the last drop of his drink passes his lips, he slams the glass on the table with more force than necessary, and Eric flinches, “Is that all?”

“No, actually, there’s one last thing,” Eric says, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it over to Ash, who despite himself, raises a brow at the surprisingly neat penmanship. Ash looks back up at Eric. 

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s where they’ve relocated,” Eric explains. 

Ash stares at the address.

“That,” Eric taps a light finger on the piece of paper sitting between Ash’s fingers, “is where you’ll find your guy and…” he brings his drink to his lips, “where you’ll find Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy we're getting sooo close to the end. sorry about the short chapter (once again!). to those of you that have been reading, and those that have just started, thank you so so SO much for reading <3 i really appreciate it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief warning for those that are more violence-averse: this chapter does contain more violence/gore than the previous chapters. it's at the very end (in case you wanted to skip it or just have an idea of when it's coming). it shouldn't be too bad, but just making sure you're all comfortable, just in case.

Ash faces the ceiling, lying on his bed. He doesn’t feel like sleeping. There’s a white-hot rage inside him razing through his body, tearing through everything inside him, his trust, his reservations, his mercy. Dean may not have been the one orchestrating the entire thing, but to know that he had been there when it all happened, he had said all of those things to Eric, had played dumb when Ash was searching for any leads, had pulled Ash off of the man when they were in the alleyway that night—the anger that Ash feels inside is unsurpassable. And he had offered Ash a place in his bed and in his arms when Ash needed a place of comfort to forget the very thing that he and his accomplices had done to him, and Ash let him. 

A feeling of nausea swirls inside him, rolling within the depths of his ribcage. 

Everything that he’d said and done from that night onwards has been a complete fucking lie. _Everything_.

He grabs his phone off his bedside table and sends out a quick message to the others. 

—

Despite the sky being shrouded in a cold, navy blue, the night is deceptively warm.

After his clandestine meeting with Eric, Ash had relayed everything Eric had told him to the others. They had been just as fired up as Ash to charge in and deliver a thorough beatdown, especially Tony, who promised to separate Dean’s spine into its constituent vertebrae and carve Ash a promise ring made out of his axis.

It’s one in the morning when they gather in their derelict building. Mark is there first, as always, waiting for the others to arrive. Alex and Ash get there a few minutes after, then Corey, then Tony. They gather around and discuss their plan for the night—it ends up being the same as always: go in, fuck shit up, get out, don’t die.

They’re all assembling their weaponry and donning their vests while Corey observes the others. The moment she set foot inside, something seemed…off, like listening to a song where the bass is turned down just a little—not enough to be glaringly obvious, but just enough to notice if you were listening closely. On the surface everything looks the same, but something has definitely changed. She examines the others. Mark, spread out on the couch, is still very much the same, beard a little longer than usual, but otherwise normal. Alex, like Mark, doesn’t provide any clues, standing to the side, lighting the rollie between her lips. There's nothing new. 

And then her gaze lands on Ash. _Ah_ , she thinks. He’s currently sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning his elbow on Mark’s head, chatting animatedly with the others before flipping Tony off. Beneath the layers of his shirt and the ballistic vest, she catches the flash of a mark on his neck. It's only for a split second but the pattern and location is enough for her deduce what it is. It’s not particularly new, but not too old either. She walks over to sit on the other arm of the couch, passing Ash on the way. 

Everyone’s scents were usually distinct. Oftentimes their scents would clash the longer they spent time together, but the scents never _mixed_. However, this time, it's different. Corey can smell the unmistakeable braided scent of a bond between an alpha and an omega. This isn’t just Ash’s scent emanating from his body, it’s that of Ash _and Tony_. It’s unexpected, yet she can’t bring herself to be surprised. She hadn’t been close enough to Ash to notice back when he’d met up with Eric at the bar, but it’s all too clear now. She’d always had her suspicions, even though their busy schedules—bar Tony—meant that they hadn’t been able to see each other for a couple of months, and now it’s all but confirmed. They'd done a surprisingly good job of keeping it on the down low, and if she wasn't as naturally observant as she is, there's no doubt it would have gone by totally unnoticed.

“Yo, Corey,” Tony’s voice interrupts, derailing her train of thought, “you all set?”

—

The building is barely illuminated, cast in a rusty orange glow by a couple of flickering streetlights curving their way through the dark. A cursory glance would lead many to believe it was just another abandoned building amongst the rest, waiting for its inevitable demolishment. However, despite the windows being boarded up, slivers of light leak out from between the gaps of several planks of wood.

As per usual, they send Corey out to scan the perimeter as they hang near the van door, ready to leap out. 

_This is it_ , Ash thinks, trying to hype himself up for the big night ahead, _I’m finally going to kill this sorry son of a bitch_. He can already see the fear in the man’s eyes right before Ash jams the knife into his eye socket, hear his screams as Ash digs around in there, feeling the optic nerve snap if he gets far enough inside. Or maybe he’ll remove his fingers, bone-by-bone, jam a blade into each joint before popping them off like disassembling a lego model. Oh, the things he wants to do. He shivers in excitement. This day has been long-awaited, and Ash needs it to go as planned.

Ash feels the brush of fingers against the back of his hand. He glances up and sees the bloodied eye of Tony’s mask looking back at him, and the muffled sound of Tony’s voice tinted with concern reaches him, “Ready?”

Ash says nothing, just turns his hand so he can squeeze Tony’s fingers between his own. 

—

“Can I kiss you?” Tony asks after a few minutes of silence as they wait for Corey’s signal. It apparently catches the others off-guard, judging by the lightning speed at which Mark’s bear head whips around, and Alex’s equally fast recoil away from the two at her side. Ignoring the others, Ash lifts up the bottom of his swan mask.

“What’s stopping you?” 

And so Tony does the same, leaning forward to meet Ash halfway just before Corey gives them an all-clear, and they pull their masks back on and leap out of the van, bulldozing right into the building. 

—

The moment they break the door down in a shower of splinters, it all goes to shit. Limbs arc across the air like bloated, inelegant birds, and the carpet soaks up the torrent of blood, lending a sickening squelch to every step. The sound of bones crunching and bullets firing melds with the anguished and panicked screams bouncing off the walls. A man gurgles through the red bubbles between his lips as Corey’s knife buries itself in his throat. Tony is holding what looks like a bloody, detached ear in his right hand. 

“There’s more of them in the rooms!” Mark yells to the others as more people arrive, this time armed with weapons. 

Alex and Ash duck into one of the rooms to avoid a spray of bullets, where they find a man cowering behind a desk with a shattered bottle held in his quivering hands. The brunette stares at them wide-eyed, eyes flicking between the swans and the open door. 

“Oh, ’sup, Dean,” Ash greets, when he recognises him immediately.

“Wh-who the fuck are you?” he stutters out, hands shaking terribly as they brandish the makeshift weapon in front of him as he’s pushing himself back against the wall. Ash pulls up his mask to reveal his face. Usually this is a big no-no, and nobody _ever_ takes their masks off, but he feels this is a special occasion. There are two people that he wants to be face-to-face with tonight when he snuffs the life out from behind their eyes; he wants to see his reflection in their pupils as they grow dull.

Dean is one of them. 

“Ash, holy shit,” he breathes out when he recognises him, lowering the bottle. The idiotic look of relief on Dean’s face tells Ash that Dean has no idea that Ash knows about him, knows everything, “what are you—you gotta get me outta here.”

Ash lets out a short laugh of disbelief, more akin to a quick exhale, “And why would I do that, Dean?” 

Dean’s eyes widen, “Are you—are you fucking serious, Ash? B-because we’re friends! Come on, man! Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done—” at Ash’s sceptical expression, he continues, “they—they forced me into working for them, Ash, I never wanted to—”

“Just cut the crap, dude, I’m not a fucking idiot. I know your part in all this, I know you were there when it happened, and I know that friends don’t use friends for drug experimentations,” Ash says, pointing his gun in Dean’s direction, “and I also know that friends don’t stand by and watch when friends are getting—

CRASH!

Ash and Alex duck to dodge the bottle flying in their direction, feeling shards of glass rain over them as it shatters on the wall behind.

“—son of a—” “oh you fucker” Ash and Alex curse in unison, and Dean is up before they recover from the surprise, making a dash for the open door. 

Ash raises his gun and tries to shoot him, but all he hears is an empty click. He grits his teeth and throws the gun, putting his entire weight behind it, and the gun collides against the man’s head, sending him tumbling forwards. They both rush over to him before he can get the chance to get back up.

“Look, I can explain—” Dean begins, when the swans advance towards him, but he doesn’t finish his sentence before Ash interjects.

“Who was it?” he demands, picking up a dropped gun nearby, checking for ammo before aiming it directly between Dean’s eyes.

“His name is Gray,” Dean answers immediately, hands up above his face like it’s going to protect him if Ash decides to send grey and white matter shooting out the back of his skull. 

“And where is he?” 

“I-I don’t know—” he flinches when Ash cocks the gun and he curls himself into a smaller ball, “I really don’t know! I don’t know where he is, Ash, but I know he’s in the building, he—he couldn’t have gone too far, that’s all, that’s all I know!”

“He’s definitely here?” 

“Sh-should be,” Dean stutters, outside the room, the sounds of death ring through the air, “if he’s not already dead.”

Ash exhales as he considers Dean. Staring down at the pathetic image below, he feels something akin to pity and disgust rise into his throat like bile. Once a dignified beta, now cowering at Ash’s feet, snivelling in an attempt to gain his mercy. His fingers twitch around the grip. Ash slowly lowers the gun.

“Why’d you do it, Dean?” Ash asks.

The brunette laughs nervously, “Why does anyone do anything? For money, Ash,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“For m—I can’t fucking believe you,” Ash lets out a dry laugh in disbelief, “you did this to me for money? For what? A few hundreds? Thousands?” Dean remains silent, “You were my best friend, Dean. I fucking trusted you, and you did—you did _this_. You ruined my goddamn life and then lied to my fucking face!”

Dean looks like he’s about to say something when a soft thud nearby alerts the three of them. Another gun has landed on the ground only a few inches away.

Only a split second passes between the saccadic movement of Dean’s eyes and his mad scramble towards the weapon, but the siblings react immediately. Ash fires in Dean’s general direction as Alex darts forward to kick the gun away from Dean’s grasping fingers. Judging by the scream, Ash must’ve hit his target somewhere. Dean groans in pain as he presses a firm hand on the wound on his leg, fingers fast becoming red and slippery.

“Fuck!” Dean spits out, “ _Fuck_ you, Ash!” he hisses between clenched teeth, fingers tightening around his wounded leg.

“Uh, no, you’ve lost that privilege, asshole,” Ash says, “and now that’s two times in the past five minutes you’ve made an attempt on my life. You know, I _was_ going to let you off since we were friends and all, as you so kindly pointed out before. But…” Ash purses his lips and clicks his tongue, “I dunno anymore.” 

“Just shoot him in his stupid fucking face,” Alex urges him, but Ash wants him to suffer, at least a little bit, before he kills him. 

“Was it worth it, Dean? You got your money in exchange for my sense of self-worth, so congratulations you self-serving cunt, you got your ten bucks,” Ash raises the gun again, “but now I’m about to blow both your kneecaps _and_ your dick off, so I hope the money you got from fucking me over can cover that.”

“Wait—”

He sees Dean’s panic for a fleeting moment when he points the gun right between his legs and pulls the trigger. There’s a satisfying howl of pain as Dean instantly curls in on himself. Ash aims the gun at his legs and shoots him again, twice, a lovely scream and a spray of fresh blood onto the ground with each bullet. Ash looks at Alex who shrugs nonchalantly as if to say, _well, he deserved it_. 

And Ash takes a moment to look at the man he once called his best friend sit in a puddle of his own blood. 

“So? Reckon it was worth it now, Dean?” Ash says, crouching down. He gets a weak sob in response. 

And then he aims the gun at the head, and shoots. Dean’s body instantly crumples onto the ground like a marionette whose strings have been snipped.

It was one thing to kill a stranger, but it's another to send a bullet flying through the skull of someone you had considered a good friend. Even when the person turned out to be traitorous scum. Yes, Alex was right, he did have it coming, but it still felt so _wrong_. He walks over to pick up a small discarded rug from the centre of the room and throws it over top of Dean’s head. He would feel better without those glassy, lifeless eyes tracking his every move. The two eventually step back out, only to find that the others had handled the rest of it themselves.

“Nice of you to join us,” he hears Mark say.

“Just in time for your present,” Tony adds with a smile. 

Ash stops in his tracks. In front of them, on his knees, is a very, _very_ familiar alpha. His hands are restrained around his back, and he assumes his legs are tied together as well. There’s a red trail from his bound mouth that drips onto the floor, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. Besides the lack of a blindfold, the scene is so familiar it’s almost poetic, Ash thinks. Tony has his hand fisted tightly in the back of the man’s collar. 

“I took the liberty of stabbing him in the foot, so he can’t run,” Corey says calmly, “but you should probably hurry because we sorta had to shank our way to submission, so he’s probably bleeding out.” 

Ash steps forward and the man lifts his head to look at Ash with a look of pure hatred from his one clear eye. Ash can’t help but laugh. Despite all that’s happened, this man still has the fucking gall to glare at Ash like Ash is the one that has wronged him somehow. He looks back up at his friends. 

“How’d you guys…” 

“Just judging by the description you gave us,” Mark says, but when Ash looks over at Tony, the alpha taps the nose of his mask with his free hand. He smelt him. Of course. After both encounters with Gray, where the alpha had rubbed his scent all over Ash, Ash had—on both occasions—somehow found his way to Tony. Those would have been ample opportunities for Tony to commit Gray’s scent to memory. 

Ash can’t believe it. He’s finally here. 

“Hey um…I-I’d like to do this alone, if that’s alright with you guys, and yes,” Ash turns to his sister, “that does include you.” 

There’s a brief moment of reluctance from everyone, before they finally shuffle out of the room to give Ash his requested privacy. As they file out of the room, Alex squeezes his shoulder on her way out, while Mark pats the opposite one. Corey gives him a fist-bump as she passes. 

“We’ll be outside, if—” the zebra shrugs, “if you need anything, I guess.” 

And Tony, he shoves the man onto the ground at Ash’s feet, enjoying the way he doesn’t move from where he’s been violently thrown, his face in the perfect position to lick Ash’s dirt-caked, blood-soaked boots, if Ash so wished for it to happen. Ash senses a mix of hesitation and genuine worry from Tony, being made to leave his omega alone with the alpha whose scent he’d known all too well from smelling it on Ash’s skin. But he respects Ash’s wishes, and when he leaves, he nods, and Ash nods back. 

—

“How long has it been?” Alex asks, tapping her foot on the ground in an irregular rhythm. 

“A solid forty seven minutes and fifty one seconds,” Mark groans from his spot on the floor, leaning against the wall, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t enjoy listening to a man suddenly scream out in pain at regular intervals from the next room over, but it’d be cool if he could wrap this up right about now.” 

“Wake me up when he’s done,” Tony says as slides down the wall to join Mark, seated next to the smashed remains of a pot plant, terracotta and soil spread all over the ground. He rests his head back and closes his eyes to nap.

“He’s really taking his time, isn’t he?” Corey says, stretching her legs. 

—

Ash finally emerges from the room, rubbing the side of a knife blade along the piece of cloth that Tony recognises as what they stuffed into the man’s mouth to gag him. The right side of his face is a mask of glistening red, and his hands are shiny and warm with blood that doesn’t belong to him. He looks surprisingly placid as he shuts the door behind him, and the state of Ash makes Tony want to peek around him to see exactly what sort of reckoning he brought upon the man.

Nobody asks Ash what transpired.

—

Tony gets out of the van at Alex and Ash’s place.

“Ugh, no way,” Alex complains when she notices, “you’re staying over?” 

“I’m really loving the warm welcome, Alex.” 

Alex sticks her tongue out and Tony laughs, slinging his arms around Ash’s waist. 

—

Alex resorts to putting in her noise-cancelling earphones halfway through the night. In the last thirty minutes she has heard more about the size and quality of Tony’s dick than she had in her entire life prior to tonight, and she’s really had quite enough. The unfortunate thing is, however, that noise-cancelling earphones do absolutely fuck-all to stop the walls from shaking every time Ash’s headboard collides with the plaster.

She ends up sleeping on the couch.

—

There are very few things that Tony would rank higher on his list of “things I love”, than Ash’s face when Tony pushes into him. The way his eyes shut tight, the pull of his teeth on his soft bottom lip, before his jaw goes slack. The parting of his petal pink lips as he sucks in a breath of warm air, exchanging it for a moan. Tony kisses him, again, and again, cards his fingers through Ash’s freshly-shampooed strands, still wet from the shower. He smells of mango and pomegranate from his body wash, and the combination of the artificially sweet scent and his alluring, natural omegan aroma is both invigorating and hypnotising. The smell of blood hasn’t completely washed off, a slight metallic tinge hidden beneath the other layers. He can’t get enough of Ash, having kissed every inch of his body, traced every line and scar with his tongue. Ash is letting out these soft little noises, pressing his face into Tony’s skin as the alpha thrusts in and out.

“You drive me absolutely batshit crazy,” Tony says without a break in his movements. 

Ash lets out a small laugh, “good,” is all he says.

He runs his hands down Ash’s front, feeling the other tense up beneath his touch. Ash already has a hand around himself, desperate to reach his climax. He’s close, if all the cursing is anything to go by. Tony can hear Ash’s heartbeats louder than his own, can hear the sound of blood rushing to and from every chamber in the muscle, every closure of each cardiac valve. He places his hands underneath Ash’s knees, pushing them further up and spreading his legs wider as he fucks him harder and faster. And if there’s one thing Tony likes seeing more than Ash’s face when he enters him, it’s Ash’s face when he comes: florid and slack-jawed, head thrown back and exposing the beautiful, _beautiful_ expanse of his throat, perfectly vulnerable—a sign of complete, unmitigated trust between an omega and his alpha. He’s so gorgeous like this, so amazingly, _terrifyingly_ gorgeous. He presses those thoughts into Ash’s neck, hoping the words melt into him, into every single cell of his being. He wants Ash to know how captivating he is. 

Suddenly, his body tightens around Tony, and he whimpers, a choked cry that turns into a loud “oh my _God_ ” and it sends Tony toppling off the edge. He loves it when Ash’s hands grasp at everything: his sheets, his headboard, over his mouth, Tony’s shoulders, unable to decide where to put his hands as he comes, as his chest heaves when he gasps for air, thighs trembling from the orgasm tearing through his entire body. Watching every atom in Ash’s body fall apart beneath him is ridiculously hot and it’s enough to unravel Tony and make him lose control. Ash traps Tony’s knot inside him as the alpha fills him up, with long legs wrapping around his waist, and arms finally finding purchase around his neck. Tony laps at the spot on the side of Ash’s neck, feeling the omega soften in his arms. He loves the way Ash—normally fiery and stubborn—is so ready to yield.

When he finally pulls out, Ash curses. 

“Holy fuck, that was—how long will it take for me to get used to that fucking thing?” he says, breathlessly, running a hand through his mussed up hair.

“With practice,” Tony answers with a smirk, “I’d be happy to help.” 

Ash smacks Tony lightly on the chest before rolling over to catch his breath. He pushes himself up, weakly, and groans when he stands. His hand flies out to grip tightly at the edge of the bedside table when his knees suddenly buckle from the combination of pain, Tony’s mouth on their bondsite, and the mind-blowing, leg-shaking orgasm that Tony wrung out of him. Tony is unable to repress his laugh, both amused and endeared by the sight.

“Shut the fuck up, Tony,” the omega snarls, and Tony can’t tear his eyes from the thick, white streaks of come that leak out of Ash and down his thighs, “Ugh, how much did you…” he complains as he wipes some of it off with the hand that isn’t clutching onto the table.

Tony shrugs and props his head up on his hand, watching with eyes full of nothing but adoration as Ash limps out of the room to clean up in the bathroom. Tony has never in his life felt such a fondness for anyone. It scares him a little, how quickly this all happened, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the thought because Ash re-enters a few minutes later, climbing on top of Tony and kissing him, before crawling back under the covers to bask in Tony’s body heat. Tony presses a hand against Ash’s flat stomach, then he slides his palm along to rest on Ash’s hips. He presses his nose against their bonding site, inhaling the scent of their bond, the scent that is so distinctly them, _together_. The omega sighs and grows ever so pliant at the action, along with the post-coital exhaustion that threatens to pull him into a deep sleep.

“Hey, Ash.”

“Hmm?” Tony loves the way he sounds when he’s sleepy.

“Out of morbid curiosity,” he begins, stroking Ash’s soft skin with his knuckles, back and forth along his ribs, “what did you do to him?”

“I gave him what he deserved,” Ash mumbles, eyes still closed.

Tony remembers seeing him, his lovely omega, steeped in the blood of another alpha and his clothes soaked through with it. His own heart had staggered then—and he interpreted it as him falling deeper in love with every flutter of Ash’s long, crimson-coated eyelashes.

“What’d you do?” he asks him quietly, but Ash doesn’t answer immediately. Tony assumes he’s fallen asleep until he hears him speak. 

“I—every part of him…every part of him that’s ever touched me, I…I…” he hears Ash take a shuddering breath, and Tony realises, belatedly, that he’s found some old wounds and somehow coerced them into splitting right open. 

“I’m sorry, Ash, you don’t have to tell me,” Tony says as he presses a kiss under his ear, “you don’t have to tell me.”

—

When the door finally shuts, Ash stands over Gray like a predator that’s finally worn down his prey and now deciding which part he’s going to devour first. He crouches down to place a knee on the man’s head, over his ear, to keep him from moving.

“You know, Gray,” he says his name like a lover, soft and warm. He holds Gray’s hand in the palm of his own, the man’s fingers quivering in his gentle hold, “this is entirely your fault.”

Ash can feel him gulping in as much air as he can. When the tip of his knife slides far too easily under the first fingernail, through the hyponychium and into the soft tissue behind it, he feels a surge of sadistic pleasure shoot through every nerve of his body. The scream that erupts from Gray is coarse as his body violently shakes and thrashes from the pain. Ash gently advances the knife, watching with indifference as the nail bed floods with thick, dark red. He twists the knife when it’s far enough, levering the fingernail off the nail bed, feeling the tear of soft flesh as it detaches from tough fibre. He works at it slowly, until the fingernail falls from his finger and onto the ground. He proceeds to move on to the next finger, repeating the process as the man under him begs for Ash to stop from under the gag, Ash assumes that he’s saying he’s sorry, that we won’t do it again, ever, ever, ever, but Ash doesn’t stop, he’s too far gone now, enjoying this a lot more that he’d expected. These fingers have left trails of dirt and rot on Ash’s skin, he had felt the burn of every ridge and dip of his fingerprints on his skin like white-hot brands. When he’s done with the fingernails, he picks up each fingertip in his hands and with the knife he slices off the man’s fingerprints, digging the blade under his skin and letting the metal slide beneath the surface. When he’s finally done with all ten digits, he admires his handiwork: bloodied, twitching fingers, and shards of keratin and detached fingerprints littered all around them.

He gets up and with his foot he turns the man over, and Gray howls in agony when he’s forced to lie on top of his raw fingertips. Ash steps over him and crouches down.

“Hmm, this will probably be in the way,” Ash says thoughtfully, the cloth around Gray’s mouth muffles the agonised screams that must surely grate against every cartilage in his larynx.

He saws at the material around the man’s mouth, and as soon as the fabric is removed, the man immediately starts babbling, spewing out apologies and promises that he’ll never do it again, that he’ll make it up to Ash somehow—it’s all bullshit. His face is red and his one good eye is now also swollen, but this time it’s because he’s been crying with his cheek pressed into the ground. Snot drips from his nose as he begs Ash to let him go, and Ash grimaces before picking up the discarded rag and wiping it clean. 

“There,” he says. 

Without wasting time, he adjusts himself into a more comfortable position, with his knees on either side of the man’s chest, and presses the blade underneath the man’s lower lip.

“Oh yeah, if you try to bite my fingers off while I’m doing this, you will regret it, alright?” The man sobs in response, “I will mince your tongue where it sits.”

He tents the skin with his fingers, and makes a small incision. Gray’s screams slowly transform into white noise, background music that plays as he works his way along around his mouth, pulling at the flesh until he’s holding a grotesque pair of lips that dangle between his fingers. He chucks it away and stares down at the exposed teeth before him, enamel slick with crimson. He brings his hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead and only succeeds in smearing a streak of scarlet across his face.

“Remember that time you tried to bite me?” Ash asks, as he points to his bondsite with Tony’s teeth marks in clear view, tapping the flat side of the knife’s blade against Gray’s teeth with the other hand, “Right here?”

The man is unable to stop himself from sobbing, right before Ash pulls out a gun and brings down the bottom of the grip onto his teeth. He hammers away, hoping to at least break off a few. For a moment Ash wonders if he should stop, if he’s gone way too far. The thought dissipates as quick as it came, however, when Ash remembers how those teeth had threatened him, had scraped against his bonding site and dragged along his skin, when he had his fingers crushed around his windpipe.

Gray’s eyes are shut tight. 

“Why aren’t you looking, Gray?” Ash asks him, patting his cheek lightly, “What, suddenly I’m not pretty enough for you?” 

He feels the man struggle beneath him as he pinches the skin and lifts up one eyelid. The knife slices through the thin skin smoothly, glides through it, even, like butter. He throws the piece of skin away before moving on to the other eye. When he’s done, he stares down at his bulging eyeballs and doesn’t bother to stem the bleeding. The red pools over his eyes and collects where skin meets sclera. He probably can’t see Ash anymore—the irony. The man’s face is a mutilated canvas of blood and exposed flesh. A morbid, sanguineous masterpiece—in Ash’s eyes—of revenge, of comeuppance. The thrashing stops.

But Ash is not done. Not yet.

Ash turns around to face the man’s lower half. 

He unbuttons Gray’s pants and pulls the zipper down without spending more time than he needs, then he pushes the fabric down until the man’s penis is exposed. Ash grimaces at the unsightly appendage, lying there, heavy and flaccid against the man’s leg. There’s no finesse in what Ash does afterwards. There’s hacking and slashing, and he’s sure Gray has passed out from the pain or shock by now. Ash resorts to pulling and ripping off the last strip of flesh holding it to his body, before the final few muscle fibres snap and it finally comes free with a nauseating squelch. Ash inserts the dismembered organ into the man’s mouth, forcing it down his throat, inch-by-inch, the entry made easier by the amount of blood present in his oral cavity.

He’s unsure if the man is unconscious or dead—but if he isn’t dead already, he will be soon. 

Ash holds the man’s head to the side, and makes a cut along the side of his neck. It’s not carefully planned, it’s not calculated, he just pushes the edge of the knife against his skin and feels it sink in. When blood shoots out at a high pressure, he knows he’s hit the carotid. He knows he should be reeling back in disgust when the stream hits him in the face, but he doesn’t, he basks in it, feeling the warmth run down from eye, down his cheek, a baptism. It dribbles to the floor in thick rivulets, and it makes his own blood sing. He keeps Gray’s head in his hand, even as the body convulses beneath him, keeping it tilted so the cut remains agape, blood pumping out in thick bursts as his heart fights to the bitter end to keep him alive. In light of what the man had just been subjected to, this act could be considered one of kindness.

Ash stands and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's the last of the gore for this fic! oh boy, i'm gonna miss it!  
> also i have this bad habit of writing these chapters and thinking wow this is long and then getting to posting them and realising they're not long at all and barely the length of my pinky finger. i hoped you guys enjoyed nonetheless! we're so close to the end~


	11. Chapter 11

The comfort of waking up gradually to the aroma of bacon, hashbrown, tomatoes, and eggs, with the combined sounds of the roaring range hood fan and popping oil, is unrivalled. Ash slowly blinks his eyes open, yawns, and stretches, arms falling onto the wrinkled linen in the space that Tony should be with a deep, long sigh. He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow beside him. The scent of the alpha, rich and heady, trickles down his throat like honey, yet courses through his body like water rushing through rapids. He rubs his cheek against the soft cotton, gently warmed by the morning sun, wishing the alpha had stayed in bed. 

Last night had been an emotional whirlwind. Killing Dean hadn’t been easy, but Ash tries to push away any and all feeling of regret. Every time he finds himself reminiscing on every other moment in his life spent with him, he forces himself to remember that the man had been a disgusting, manipulative bastard, and he deserved each and every bullet. The execution of Gray had been more or less the most satisfying moment in Ash’s life, and he had once bought a pair of shoes and discovered that the box fit perfectly snug in one of the cubby holes in his wardrobe, height-wise, length-wise, _and_ depth-wise. He felt a pure rush of exhilaration when he’d first heard the raw screams rip across the air.

Dragging his feet across the carpet, he half expects to see Alex standing in the kitchen, but the fact that it isn’t just toast or cereal for breakfast tells him to expect otherwise. Instead, he’s greeted by a broad back when he enters, and Ash leans against the doorway to watch quietly as Tony works the pan. His shoulder blades move under the cotton of his singlet, and Ash watches, mesmerised by every stretch and pull of his muscles. It’s nothing fancy or particularly interesting, but Ash enjoys the easy sense of domesticity the scene brings him, maybe a little too much. 

“Are you just gonna stand around like a useless piece of shit or are you gonna come give me a hand?” Tony says without turning around. 

“I’ll take the first option, thanks,” Ash answers. He saunters up behind Tony to drape his arms over his shoulders and tuck his head against Tony’s neck, feeling the buzzcut tickle his forehead. When Tony shrugs his head off, he looks up and watches with vague interest as Tony tries to unstick the food from the “non-stick” pan that has unfortunately had its teflon scraped off through years of rough handling and washing.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

Tony laughs softly, “I can’t. Not well, anyway.” 

When he serves the food, Ash realises that he’s right. The egg is burnt around its edges and the bacon breaks into shards underneath his fork, but Ash’s stomach is aching to be fed, growling low and sinister, so he has no complaints as he shovels the food into the black hole that is his mouth. 

“How do you feel?” Tony asks through a mouth full of egg and potato. He chews with his mouth open as he spears the charred half-tomato with his fork before shoving the entire thing into his gaping maw. Ash watches in equal parts disgust and fascination as the tomato disappears in the blink of an eye, a single drop of juice trickling out of Tony’s mouth the only evidence there was even a tomato here in the first place. 

“I feel…good,” Ash replies. Tony hums in acknowledgement while he scrapes the plate with his fork, the sound of metal screeching as it drags along the ceramic. Ash swallows the last of his eggs and adjusts himself in his seat so he can bring a foot up and rest his chin on his knee. He flips through some messages on his phone, checks his social media, and the fingers on his other hand twist absent-mindedly around a few strands of hair at the back of his head.

“Getting a bit long?” Tony asks, eyes following every movement of his long fingers dancing through strings of gold. 

Ash releases the lock of hair and combs all his fingers through them instead, “Hm? Oh yeah, actually I was gonna ask you about that…” he says, setting his phone down on the table.

“I like it,” Tony says without hesitation, and Ash grins, ducking his head slightly when he feels his face heat up from the ease with which Tony compliments him now. He doesn’t know how long it will take him to grow accustomed to it, but for now he enjoys the way he grows warm with every little bit of praise Tony throws his way.

“That wasn’t what I…” Ash licks his lips before meeting Tony’s amber eyes, “I wanna shave it off. All of it.”

Tony blinks.

“You what now?”

—

The clippers buzz directly next to Ash’s head, the sound of it so close tickling his ear and making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He doesn’t own clippers himself, so he’s sitting in Tony’s bathroom without a shirt on, facing the mirror, with Tony looking more than hesitant behind him.

“You’re absolutely sure you want _me_ to do this?” Tony asks, one hand resting on the bare skin of his shoulder.

“You do yours yourself, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah,” Tony replies with a shrug, “but I’ve always had hair like this, what if you don’t like it?” 

“Then that’s my fault isn’t it?” Ash retorts. When Tony takes too long to reply, Ash waves his hand in front of Tony’s face, “Dude, hurry up.” 

“Just don’t fucking come crying to me if you hate it.” 

“I’m not gonna _cry_.” 

“Well if you’re not going to, _I_ probably will.” Tony says as he cards his fingers through them, “Gonna miss grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking on it while I hit—ow! Stop!”

“Sh-shut up,” Ash splutters, elbowing Tony hard in the solar plexus, “shut up and fucking do it, dumbass.”

And with a laugh, Tony presses the clippers against his head, and starts shaving.

—

“Oh. My. God.” 

Ash turns around to see his sister wide-eyed, mouth open in shock. Her arms are full of brown bags packed with miscellaneous ingredients and snacks, and she zips over to dump them onto the kitchen island before making her way towards Ash. He rubs his hand over his freshly-shaven head; the feeling of short, fuzzy hair is still new to him, but he doesn’t have any regrets. Even though he hadn’t really planned it out, it seemed that doing this was the last, small step he needed to take to finally feel like he belonged to himself again. His sister runs her hands all over his short hair. 

“You look…weird?” she says. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Ash agrees, “I feel weird.” 

“Wait ’til the others see this tonight,” she says with a grin, moving to put the groceries away, “does Tony know?” 

“Well, yeah, he’s the one that helped me do it,” Ash answers as he follows her, “but uh, what’s on tonight?” he asks, furrowing his brows. Ash had absolutely no plans for tonight and he was hoping to have a proper night of relaxation now that he’d given that sick, twisted bastard his retribution. 

“Party at the hideout!” she exclaims, shoving frozen veges into the freezer, “Well, not the hideout hideout, but the party hideout! It’s almost halloween! How could you forget? Corey and I thought we’d do something fun, since nobody else seems to have anything else planned.” 

Ash grabs a can of beer for himself before pushing himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. Right, it’s halloween, _that’s_ why Tony had messaged him saying that he had found pirated version of _‘Blood of the Shrunken Seamonkey Head from Beyond’_ (and also a surprisingly high quality version of _‘Girl with a Cat-titude: The Perfect Mewment’_ ). He messaged Ash saying yeah, he knows they just spent the morning with each other but if Ash didn’t have any plans this evening, they would be waiting on Tony’s hard drive, ready to be watched. 

It _was_ going to be ideal way to spend his night, but Ash knows Alex, and therefore he also knows that if she’s got plans for you, then your plans for yourself are automatically overruled. Back when they were in highschool, she had once delivered an excruciating nipple cripple when he’d refused to join her on her hunt for the perfect prom dress, and he had to grope his own chest to convince himself that she hadn’t completely ripped them off. Now that they were older, he was afraid of what she would resort to to get her way; he’d probably risk losing more than just feeling in his nipples. He flicked a quick message to Tony, asking for a possible rain-check.

“Right, and say I do go,” he says, after hitting send, “with whom will I be forced to mingle at this wonderful halloween party of yours?” he finishes the question with a crack of his beer. 

“Hm,” she counts on her fingers, “so far off the top of my head there’s Sweetie, Will, Rick, Ted, Jimmy, Dennis, Rachael, Ronald, Peter, Zack, Oscar, Russell, Brandon…the list is pretty long and I’m sure it’s still growing…I just sorta chucked out a few invites and told them to bring some of their people along. Come on, you can invite your friends as well, it’ll be fun!” Alex adds on the end when she sees the hesitation on Ash’s face. He sighs, putting his beer down and swapping it for his phone when hears a _ding_. 

_> yeh i figured when i got the msg from her. im guesing ur being forced into it_

_< yep. come so i dont kill myself lmao._

_> the would suck bro. _

_> that*_

Alex is sitting on the couch now, furiously tapping away at her screen no doubt trying to invite as many people as she can. He hops off the counter before finally giving her an answer, “I’ll think about it.”

—

Ash is immediately enveloped in a crushing hug the moment he set foot into their not-hideout-hideout. He feels himself getting lifted slightly, and the crisp, smell of beta scent fills his nostrils and he immediately brings his arms around the body currently wrapped around his. 

“Hey Devyn,” he says patting her back when his feet find purchase on the ground, voice muffled against the taller’s collarbone, “what’s this all of a sudden?” 

When Devyn opens her eyes, one alcohol-warmed cheek smushed against Ash’s temple, she knows at this very moment that she’d probably broken some sort of new time limit on hugs, at least where Ash is concerned. _Right, of course,_ she thinks, _the omega is spoken for now_. The alpha in question is shorter than Ash—but what he lacked in height he made up for in sheer bulk. The guy is built like a brick shithouse, and she’s sure that if he so wished, the man could break her neck like a toothpick with his pinky finger. The low growl that emanates from Tony is inaudible under the music booming throughout the concrete room, but when the extremely stacked alpha of the omega in your embrace glares at you like that, with eyes that flicker with an untameable flame, you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s release him now or lose your fucking arms. And so Devyn, a woman of virtue—and self-preservation—immediately frees Ash from her hold, opting to pat him on the shoulder instead.

“Just happy to see you is all. What, can’t even show my love for my friends?”

Ash laughed, “You see me at work enough, don’t you?” 

“Well, it’s always exciting to see co-workers outside of, you know, work,” Devyn puts up a finger, “actually I take that back, I fucking hate seeing people from work outside in the real world, except for you, of course, since you’re my favourite! That’s why you’re the only one I bother inviting out to brunch.”

“I’m so honoured,” Ash laughs. 

“Don’t tell Lauren that,” she faux-whispers with her hand cupping around her mouth, gesturing to where the other girl is currently puckering her lips and scrunching her eyes, holding a lemon peel in her hand, “or Dean, dunno if he’s coming tonight though, thought he would be, but I haven’t seen him.”

Ash freezes for a split-second, before he composes himself, “Uh, yeah. I’m not sure, I haven’t heard from him to be honest.” 

“Huh, weird,” she says, “thought you guys were like this,” she gestures with her fingers crossed. 

“Yeah,” Ash says, “me too.”

—

Devyn tells herself to be as respectful of this relationship as possible, for the sake of integrity and respect towards Ash, and of course, lest the alpha see her as a potential threat and decides to take care of it—by murdering, or at least grievously injuring, her in a room full of witnesses. Something tells her that this particular alpha has a wildly possessive streak in him. But even with him standing ominously behind Ash, looking like he’s prepared to crack Devyn’s elbow over his knee at any given moment, Devyn can’t suppress the urge to rub her palm over Ash’s new buzz cut.

“So what’s with this new look?” she asks, feeling the short hairs scrape along her skin.

Ash shrugs, “Just wanted something new, for a change.”

“It looks good,” Devyn compliments, as platonically as she can manage, she chances a glance at the alpha, “actually, speaking of new—well, relatively…” she says, gesturing to Tony, finally taking the opportunity to get to know this man who seems to get closer and closer to slaughtering her by the second. 

“Oh, you guys haven’t properly met, have you?” Ash says. He slings an easy arm around the man’s shoulders, but before Ash can introduce him, the man himself steps forward and holds a hand out. A handshake of this nature, combined with the alpha’s stern expression, is weirdly stiff for a party held in an abandoned warehouse where people are getting absolutely plastered, fucking each other in one room and doing lines in another. Devyn takes his hand anyway. 

“Tony,” the man says, his voice deep and strong, like flowing lava. The rough grip around her fingers is crushing, and she can feel the way her bones grind together with the pressure. Devyn struggles to hold back a wince behind a cordial smile.

“Devyn,” she introduces herself, “you may know me as the girl that serves you your rum and coke at Hank’s.”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, without taking his eyes off Devyn’s, “I know you.”

The atmosphere grows stilted and awkward, and she can see the way Ash’s eyes dart between them. The alpha thinks she’s trying to steal his omega. It would be cute if her life wasn’t on the line, so she tries to de-escalate the situation. She holds out two fingers to point at the couple and announcing in the most amicable tone she could muster, “Now, you two look a bit too sober to be here. Let’s head over to the bar and fix that, shall we?” 

“That,” Ash pipes up, clapping Tony and Devyn on the shoulder heartily, stepping in the space between the two and ushering them to where the majority of the alcohol appears to be, “is a great idea.”

It turns out the “bar” is just a communal alcohol dumping area for the party when arms got too tired of carrying around their multiple bottles of moonshine. The selection is surprisingly impressive, mostly beer and hard liquor, but with the occasional unlabelled, suspiciously coloured drink in large, clear bottles that had once been home to natural, fresh, spring water. One of Alex’s friends has taken up the job of unofficial party bartender, standing behind the counter made of aged, splintering wood. This was once a pub, after all. Nobody knows the girl’s real name, only ever addressing her as Sweetheart, or Sweetie, for short. The name is apt, for a sweet and kind beta who chimes a “what would you guys like?” when she sees the three approaching. 

“Wouldn’t recommend the green one,” a familiar voice offers behind them, “tastes like peppermint and death.” They turn around and see Mark, holding a colourfully-labelled bottle of craft beer. Some sort of fancy cucumber flavour. Who would bring nice, unique craft beer to a party like this, nobody knows, but it is definitely being appreciated by several of the attendees floating about, so all is well. 

They all stand around in their little circle, catching up with friends that pass by and meeting friends of friends. After imparting his wisdom and holding a few short conversations, Mark leaves with a nod to join Corey who is currently perched on the edge of a pool table, drinking from a bottle of Captain Morgan while people attempt to play around her, using her presence as a challenge rather than an obstruction. Devyn separates from them after a few idle minutes of small talk to go socialise with a small circle of people sitting around a small wooden table surrounded by a huge, thick cloud as they pass a bong around. 

“Fuck, I gotta take a piss,” Tony says to Ash, taking a swig of his amber liquid, scrunching his eyes, gritting his teeth, and sucking in some air when the bitterness hits him a bit too hard, “be back in a bit.”

Ash idly spins on the stool, sipping his own mystery concoction. It tastes like vodka, mixed with juice, and then more vodka. He scans the room for groups of people he could assimilate himself into: there’s the stoners, where Devyn is currently lounging, then there’s the people doing lines on one of the older wooden coffee tables they had picked up from a second-hand furniture dealer, the snooker players, Lauren, who is still challenging people to shots, and various other social bubbles of people he’d met at previous parties. He’d considered walking over to where he could see Alex standing with a bunch of others, chatting and laughing loud enough for the sound to cut through the rest of the party, but decides against it out of sheer laziness. Scanning the room, he then spots Mark and Corey sharing some pizza with some of the snooker guys that have split to take a break from sending billiard balls flying off the felt table. There isn’t many pieces of the pizza left and Ash needs something inside him to help soak up some of the alcohol, so he plans to get there fast.

But then he sees Eric, standing at the opposite end of the bar, trying to pour peach schnapps into his already full bottle of blue-coloured alcohol, and decides to make a beeline over to him instead. 

“Um, hey,” he says, and Eric spills his schnapps over the hand holding the bottle when he looks up. Ash plants himself on the stool beside Eric.

“Oh,” Eric says sheepishly as he wipes his sticky hand on a girl passing by, but she doesn’t notice, “hey Ash, how’s it going?” 

“I just…wanted to thank you,” Ash begins, “I’m sorry I was a bit…you know, with the threats and all. Pointing the gun at you. I was really, really on edge.” 

Eric laughs, “It’s fine…I mean it was a bit scary, but understandable,” he says, putting the cap back on his bottle, “as long as you don’t try to kill me tonight, then we’re good.” 

Ash pats his shoulder, “Alright, it’s a deal.”

They sit together for a while, sipping their drinks and not saying a word. Then Eric speaks up, voice quiet, “I um, I noticed he isn’t here tonight.”

Ash takes a breath, “Yeah. Yeah, he’s…he’s not turning up.”

Eric chews his bottom lip and nods, “Guess he got what he deserved.”

“They all did,” Ash replies, “anyway, enough of this depressing talk, it’s time to get absolutely destroyed, Eric, go out there and show your liver who’s boss.”

Eric laughs and takes a swig of his brew, “Will do. Hey, I’m happy for you. Talk later.”

Ash nods and moves to slide off his chair. 

“Ash!” the sudden call stops him just as he’s about to hop off. He whirls around on his spinny stool and he hits a wall of distinct alpha scent, like smoke and gunpowder. Then suddenly, he’s face-to-face with Jimmy, with his mousey brown hair, previously styled and held together with copious amounts of hair gel, but now falling out of place on top of his head. 

“Oh, ‘sup,” Ash greets him with a raise of his drink, “how’s it going, man?” 

Seeing Jimmy now, he is admittedly taken aback. The kid gets taller and broader with every meeting, reaching Ash’s height now despite being seven years his junior. Ash doesn’t know how someone as young as Jimmy got involved with this sort of crowd, but the working hypothesis at the moment is that he knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew someone. He’d turned up to a few of these get togethers and from the get-go he’d been extremely transparent with communicating what he wanted.

“Oh, you know, it’s been good,” Ash suppresses a shudder when he _feels_ the way Jimmy’s eyes rake down his body, then back up again, “ _great_ , now, actually. I haven’t seen you around in ages.” It seems that part of him hasn’t changed.

Ash’s eyes dart around the room for any sign of Tony, hoping that the alpha would come any second now to rescue him from this awkward conversation. Nobody took that long to take a piss, did they? He continues searching until his eyes finally land on the familiar leather jacket and brown hair at the other end of the room, just barely over Jimmy’s shoulder. But it appears Tony isn’t in the position to free Ash from this talk any time soon, because his attention is currently held by two young ladies, ones batting her eyelashes and the other is twirling her hair around her index finger. Fuck.

“So, how have you been?” Jimmy croons, stepping closer to Ash and obstructing his view of Tony, his alpha pheromones suddenly amped up, “Your hair looks a lot shorter, but it suits you, you look good.” And he—like everyone else that had commented on his new hair—runs his hand over Ash’s head. Ash begrudgingly tolerates it, but it still sends a chill down Ash’s spine and Ash leans back. 

“Yeah, I’ve been good, real good, you know, just working, decided to get myself a new look,” Ash said, pointing to his head, “and I uh, I’ve got myself a bondmate, yeah, I was surprised too,” he tacks at the end of his sentence when Jimmy’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. But the information does nothing to thwart his advances, if anything, it had done the opposite. The younger, instead, encroaches further into Ash’s space, taking the declaration as possibly a challenge. His other arm slides onto the bar counter to rest alongside Ash’s, and Ash immediately retracts his arm, to the other’s amusement.

“Is that so?” he asks, leaning in, probably trying to catch a scent, “What a shame.”

Ash gestures to the glass of what he assumes to be a glass of gin in his hand, hoping to change the subject, “So whatcha got in there? Are you even old enough to drink?” he teases. 

Jimmy looks at his glass, “And since when has that ever stopped me?” he replies with a grin, Ash shrugs one shoulder as if to say, _“touché”_ , “besides, I’m _eighteen_ now, that’s legal in most countries,” he says the word ‘eighteen’ with emphasis, and Ash knows the word ‘legal’ in this context does not refer to just the drinking age.

Ash sighs. He really needs to make it clear to the kid that he isn’t interested, again, as he had tried before, to no avail.

“Look, Jimmy—” 

“So this bondmate of yours,” Jimmy interrupts, “why don’t you tell me about him?” 

—

Tony zips himself back up and enters the building, eyes scanning the room for Ash. He knows that dirty fuck Johnny is lurking around and if he could help it, he’d like it if he stayed a considerable distance away from Ash. The kid was an alpha and had an irritating tendency to be quite obvious in regards to his fondness for the omega, and Tony didn’t want to give him the chance to rub himself all over his bondmate. He continues walking, turning his head in all directions in his search, eyes locking onto Ash, still perched by himself on the barstool, when he feels a gentle nudge on his forearm and a voice calling out his name. 

“Hey Tony!”

He looks over to see two girls, standing side by side, “Uh…hey, um…” one of the girls standing in front of him looks familiar, he’s probably slept with her at some point in his life, a blonde omega…what was her name…Jessica? Jacinda? Jasmine? 

“Ja…?”

“It’s me, Rachael,” she says like she holds significance in Tony’s life, “and this is Jordan, but we call her Jo-jo.” Tony inwardly cringes at the nickname, reminiscent of middle-school.

Tony makes a show of remembering, clicking and pointing at her, “Right, right, Rachael. Hey, and uh, nice to meet you, Jordan.”

“Just call me Jo-jo,” the brunette requests. 

Tony clears his throat, “Right, nice to meet you, Jo-jo.” 

The girls draw him into a bland conversation and Tony spends the majority of it trying to act like he remembers all the events Rachael brings up, taking a drink every time she says the words “like”, “oh my God”, and “anyway” in order to make it slightly more bearable. No, he doesn’t remember seeing her at that party, no, he doesn’t remember seeing her when she was standing next to the bulk foods section of the supermarket.

He looks over to where Ash is, and immediately feels his hackles rise. Jared, that oily fucker, is standing far too close to Ash for his liking. He can see Ash creating distance, but the brat doesn’t take a hint, and almost immediately closes the gap and—did he just run his fucking hand over Ash’s head? Oh, no, now that kid is seriously asking for it. 

“—and anyway I was like, oh my God is that Tony? Because I recognised, like, the back of your head—oh my God I hope that didn’t sound too creepy, did that sound creepy Jo-jo? I promise, I don’t like, stalk you or anything, that would be like, so weird. But anyway, I was like, no way, it can’t have been you since, you know, I’d never seen you around the area—he’s _never_ around the area—but then you turned around and I was like, oh my God that’s _definitely_ Tony. For _sure _. Anyway, I was gonna go say hi but then I was like, ‘aw, he looks really busy’ ‘cause you were like, already making your transaction. Anyway, do you usually shop for groceries there? Tony? Tony?”__

__Tony can make out snippets of the dialogue between Ash and Jonah, and if Tony wasn’t mistaken, the little bastard was _propositioning_ him. Hell to the _fucking no_. He had already majorly pissed Tony off by running his slimy fingers over Ash, but now he was _begging_ to have his ass handed to him with the way he’s putting the moves on Ash. Tony had had enough. _ _

__“Sorry, Rebecca—” Tony muttered, suddenly aware of how much he’d drunk due to the drinking game he’d created out of sheer boredom when his head swims after snapping his gaze back to her, “Gemma,” he nods in acknowledgement._ _

__“It’s Rachael—” “Jo-jo” the girls try to correct him, but Tony had already detached himself from the conversation before he could correct himself, and is already marching on his way towards the pair chatting away._ _

__“So this bondmate of yours,” he hears Jimmy ask, “why don’t you tell me about him?”_ _

__Tony makes it just in time._ _

__“Yeah? Whaddya wanna know?” he says, words falling out of his mouth as he slots himself into Ash’s side. A visible wave of relief washes over Ash, but it’s immediately replaced by apprehension when he does a double take and notices the way Tony sways slightly on his feet, nose screwing up in disgust when Tony’s whiskey-breath wafts over to him. He mutters a quiet “ow fuck” when Tony’s bony elbow digs into the soft junction between his neck and his shoulder in order to stabilise himself._ _

__“Tony?” Jimmy says, unable to hide the surprise at the revelation, “You—you’re his—”_ _

__“Yeah, that’s about fucking right,” Tony mumbles into the whiskey bottle before he takes another drink, and Ash takes a look at the vessel in his hands, eyes almost popping out of his head when he sees just how much alcohol Tony’s had in the past hour or so. He pulls the now-empty bottle out of his mouth and continues, “and listen here, Jimbo—”_ _

__“It’s Jimmy—”_ _

__“—if I see you touching him again or—or, offering him some VIP seat on your—yeah, yeah I fucking heard you with the whole _‘I’m legal now’_ thing—God fucking help me I will tear your arms out of their goddamn sockets, and snap your fucking dick off while I’m at it, aight? Ya hear me?” _ _

__“Tony, shut up,” Ash warns as he glances around, afraid that Tony’s bellowing threat would bring upon unwanted attention. Jimmy lifts his hands up and shakes his head, squinting when a drop of liquor-infused spittle lands on his eye, “Alright, alright, fine. Chill. I was kidding, okay? Damn,” he turns away from Tony to address Ash, “Guess I’ll see you around.”_ _

__And with that, he turns and leaves, finishing his drink and chucking his glass in one of the cardboard boxes lying around._ _

__“Well, that was easier than I thought it’d be,” the words roll around in Tony’s mouth, and Ash drags Tony away from the counter to prevent him from acquiring another bottle of alcohol, “Sorry for being so—I’m pretty sloshed, dude,” Tony apologises, pressing a hand against his forehead as he lets Ash lead him to the periphery of the room, “but God, I just—”_ _

__“Tony, it’s fine,” Ash says, bringing Tony closer to stand with him._ _

__“No, it’s not. I hate that you’re just so…hmm…argh…” he grumbles._ _

__All Ash can manage is a “what the fuck are you on about?” hidden beneath a chuckle._ _

__“All these people…Jommy—”_ _

__“—Jimmy—”_ _

__“—it’s like everybody on this planet wants to take you away from me.”_ _

__“Tony, that’s just one guy.”_ _

__“So you think! You think those alphas over there are looking over here because they want _me_? They can’t help it. What happened, on 104th. I hate it, I hate that this happens, I hate that they keep acting like you’re—like you’re _not mine,_ ” Tony complains._ _

__Ash tries his best to suppress the laugh that wants to escape. The possessive streak in Tony is full-blown now, uninhibited, and all Ash can think about is how much he sounds like a spoilt kid. Ash’s hands find the sides of Tony’s face, pulling him into a gentle kiss that slowly turns desperate._ _

__“You’re mine,” Tony says, this time deep, with a voice that demands ownership. And Ash swallows thickly, suddenly all too aware of the hot weight of the alcohol pooling in his gut. His words shake something inside Ash, makes him weak and soft in Tony’s arms as the alpha curls one around him._ _

__“Yeah,” Ash whispers back into Tony’s ear, “I’m yours,” and that alone unleashes something feral inside Tony. He shoves Ash against the wall hard, feeling the jar of his shoulder blades against the smooth concrete wall, and the gust of air that gets forced out of Ash’s lungs. He licks at their bondsite, then he’s nipping at it lightly, causing Ash to honest-to-God whimper. He would have collapsed if not for the pressure of Tony’s hands against his shoulders, pinning him against the wall. Those hands then roam along the lithe line of his body, one eventually hooking under his right knee to hitch it around Tony’s hip. The movement elicits a groan from both of them when it allows Tony to press closer, more intimately than was previously possible. Ash cups Tony’s face, lifting it so he can kiss Tony and feel the bitter taste of whiskey heavy on his tongue. He moans into it, tilting his head and allowing them to deepen their kiss. It’s only when he throws his head back against the wall, with Tony at his neck again, that he realises they’re still in a room full of people._ _

__“Tony,” Ash says, slapping Tony on the back and pulling his hand off his leg so he can place his foot on the ground, “Tony wait.”_ _

__The alpha just continues mouthing against his collarbone, miffed at the sudden apprehension._ _

__“We should uh…probably do this somewhere else, you know, take it somewhere more private?”_ _

__—_ _

__“Aaand there they go,” Corey announces from where she’s standing next to Mark and Alex, who has suddenly discovered a deep interest in the label of an abandoned half-full bottle of gin from which she takes an experimental sip, despite already having a drink in hand, “off to finish the job where nobody can see.” Corey sweeps her hand to motion at the crowd of people._ _

__“I’m surprised they actually took it elsewhere,” Mark says, “not that I’d want to see, but they were seriously getting so into it I was expecting to see a flash of dick somewhere.”_ _

__“God, yeah, me too,” Corey agrees, “I was pretty convinced they were gonna, _you know_ —” Corey makes a ring with her thumb and index finger, and pokes through it with her other index finger, “like _right there_.”_ _

__Mark snorts around his beer, “That’d really be putting on a show for the rest of us. Who needs Pornhub am I right, boys?” Corey barks out a laugh and elbows Mark, who continues, “God, you know sometimes I still find myself thinking, can you _believe_ it? Those two? Seriously man, who would’ve guessed they’d end up boinking?”_ _

__“Guys, can we please, please, change the subject?” Alex whines, face contorted in what appears to be a blend of disgust and pain, “And really Mark? _Boinking_? Look, that’s enough, who wants cold pizza?” she asks, holding up the cardboard box, soaked with oil and spilt drinks. _ _

__The pair tear off a piece of pizza each._ _

__“I’m happy for them,” Corey says, taking a bite, “it’s the happiest they’ve both been for a while now.”_ _

__—_ _

__“Welcome back!” someones yells across the room, possibly Rick, when the two attempt to slink back into the building thirty or so minutes later. Multiple pairs of eyes turn to the duo, and there are a few cheers when Ash immediately flushes with a deep pink. Tony is seemingly too drunk to feel any semblance of shame._ _

__“Fuck up!” Tony drunkenly yells back, as they stagger towards Mark, Corey, and Alex, all while Ash tries to cover the bright, red-raw bite mark on his neck._ _

__When they reach the others, Ash offers a stiff “hi”, and it takes him a while to make direct eye-contact with any of them. When Tony’s eyes catch Alex’s, she offers him a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give to those co-workers you only see occasionally in the break room for no more than five seconds, once every week. The whole thing is very amusing to Corey and Mark, who struggle to hold back their laughter at the tangible awkwardness that has befallen their group. Surprisingly, Ash is the first to break the silence._ _

__“So uh,” his voice sounds rough, and he clears his throat, “how’s the party?”_ _

__“It’s been good,” Corey answers, a sly smirk playing over her features. She throws her long black hair over her shoulder, “you?”_ _

__Ash looks at her as if to say, _“are you seriously asking me that right now?”_ and she knocks her bottle against Mark’s, both of them taking far too much pleasure in teasing them. _ _

__“Well I’ve been great,” Tony drawls, leaning onto the table, “what we just did, no alpha is gonna wanna go _near_ him after tonight—fuck! Ash, what the hell?”_ _

__“Tony!” Alex shrieks at the same time, hands flying up to cover her ears, sending a wave of jägerbomb sloshing over the edge of her glass and splashing down her back. She hadn’t participated in the conversation until this moment, but it finally reached a point where she felt the need to intervene, “Tony! Don’t. Be. Fucking. Gross.” She punctuates each word with a punch to his shoulder._ _

__Tony doesn’t even flinch, just raises his shoulders, mouth pulled in a line that isn’t a frown, but not quite a smile either, blasé about the blows coming at him from Alex. After a few more hits, Mark steps in to pull Alex away before she inflicts any sort of real damage._ _

__—_ _

__The night eventually finds Mark, Ash, Tony, and Corey lounging on the suede couch, worn smooth with years of use, with Alex standing nearby, sobering up as their alcohol supply starts to come to its end. Friends and strangers alike mill about the place, guzzling down fattening beers and dribbling water over cubes of sugar. The energy is dying down into a low hum, with people starting to lose consciousness in different corners of the room and under the tables. Sweetie is drinking with Lauren at the bar, giggling and sharing secrets, Jimmy is snoring away underneath the pool table—oh wait, nope, he’s still awake, just very inebriated. Eric is sitting on the arm of the couch with the rest of his body lying across the back. His spine will not thank him for that tomorrow._ _

__“Man, this party stinks. I fucking hate these people,” Tony complains. He leans his head against Ash’s shoulder and presses his nose against his throat. The scent of his omega serves to soothe him some._ _

__“Who invited all these morons?” Ash joins in, subconsciously tilting his head to the side to allow Tony better access. The gesture makes the alpha in Tony purr._ _

__Alex cleans under her fingernails with a knife she finds on the ground, “Does anyone have any more weed? The douchebags over there have run out,” she complains, nodding over to where Devyn looks close to passing out on a tattered beanbag._ _

__“No, Alex,” Corey sighs, sinking further into the sofa cushions, shoving a pizza crust into her mouth, “you’re the only one here that actively seeks out that stuff.” Alex pouts._ _

__“But I’m bored…” she whines, “wait—I might have an idea,” she says, a mischievous grin finding its way onto her face. The others turn to her, ready._ _

__“I bought some weed from a couple of creeps on North West 168th a few days ago. It looked like they had their stash in a storage shed close by.”_ _

__Tony scoffs, “You want us to go treasure hunting for more drugs, huh?”_ _

__Alex places her hands on her hips, sighing, “Well, there might be more assholes there,” she lifts a hand before letting it drop at her side, “I don't know. You got anything better to do?”_ _

__“I wouldn't mind going for a ride,” Mark pipes up, “let's check it out, guys! We can always grab some pizza if we don't find anything.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is! thank you so much to all (five???) of you that have been reading.
> 
> i know that this fic dealt with the taboo topic of rape, and i understand that it's an extremely sensitive topic. i don't want this to make it seem like i believe that recovering from abuse is something as simple as somehow getting revenge and cutting all your hair off, and i don't want to downplay anybody’s trauma either by making it seem like you just have to find the right person that will magically heal all your wounds. i hope anybody reading this doesn’t feel that way, and if you do then i deeply apologise. 
> 
> i also know that this fic isn’t chronologically sound, with the entire fic starting off with the moving up scene and then ending with some weird mixture of down under and into the pit lmao. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also dean is technically a minor character but because he’s only very, very briefly mentioned in the game, i honestly have no idea what he's actually like. actually a lot of the characters and details i’ve put into the story have either come from very minor side characters in the game (e.g. sweetie, jack, jimmy, rachael, and some others i think) or from the hm comic (e.g. tommy, eric, and the fact that corey uses a katana) so hopefully you guys might recognise some of these little things i’ve chucked in <: 
> 
> anyway, again, thank you all so so SO much for reading <3 much love. hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it.


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